


Ride for the brand

by Ziane



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Yakuza, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Barebacking, Bodyguard Jesse McCree, Canon-Typical Violence, Eventual Smut, Explicit Sexual Content, Feels, Fluff and Smut, Lace Surprise, M/M, Mutual Pining, Oral Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, Retribution bits, Rimming, Smut, Yakuza Genji Shimada, Yakuza Hanzo Shimada, and a little shit, cause they're in love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-23
Updated: 2018-05-05
Packaged: 2019-04-26 18:57:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 37,411
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14408442
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ziane/pseuds/Ziane
Summary: Jesse McCree has been working as a bodyguard for the Shimada-gumi for the past two years. He's making a living and he has met Shimada Hanzo, a spoiled brat, his worst nightmare, and his most shameful wet dream.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I was thirsy for some Yakuza/Cowboy thing so... here I am <3  
> English is not my mother tongue, so there will be mistakes. ヾ(_ _*)

It happens so fast Hanzo isn’t even aware he has him tackled against the dubiously spotless floor of the restaurant. His eardrums still buzzing, a sting waving out his head from the thump, a faint ring clouding his senses while he tries to find out why. _Another gunshot_. Hanzo writhes under his bodyguard’s weight to the point he is even angry at him until he realizes he is trying to protect him.

That’s why he has bodyguards, not everybody in Hanamura celebrates the Shimada-gumi success, not all families agree with his clan, but a direct attack on the heir means war. There will be retaliation, blood will be shed, and fingers will fly; Hanzo clenches his jaw and claws his fingers on his bodyguard’s thighs -conveniently at his reach- while he straddles him to pin him down.

McCree notices and winks at him, with that good-for-nothing air he floats in. How can someone look untidy in a suit? He does, the last button of his shirt is never in place, the tie slacks around his neck, the scratchy beard is a mess and the ever-present Stetson hat he insists on carrying everywhere even if it matches none of his other closet choices, and yet it exasperates Hanzo how good he looks.

The brown leather body holster has his jacket tucked on a side; he has drawn his weapon and flipped the table to use it as a barricade and he has done it so efficiently Hanzo can’t recall when. They are surrounded by the debris from the window glass, Hanzo realizes.

“Let me move,” Hanzo orders, raising his voice over the madness unleashed at the restaurant and feeling like a kid being manhandled by an adult.

“Not a chance, darling,” McCree barks.

Hanzo makes a futile attempt at lifting his back from the ground but a strong hand presses his sternum and he is back into place. There is no use. He has him pinned to the floor and is firing his weapon single handed over the edge of the flipped table with a wolfish grin on his face. Brown locks get in his eyes and frame the madman face he portrays, his smile widens when he lands a shot. McCree is definitely enjoying this.

“This is foolish,” Hanzo protests. “I can take care of myself.”

Of course, he can. Hanzo has trained to kill you in ten different ways before you even know he is there, he doesn’t even know why he needs a personal bodyguard but his father’s orders are final. He has one, Genji has one, and that’s it.

“Text the driver for me, sweetheart,” McCree says and tosses his phone on his chest without even looking at him. “I got my hands full,” he winks again. “But so do ya’.” That dreadfully charming smile irritates Hanzo to infinity and beyond and that shameless flirty tone inherent to his voice even if he is only ordering a coffee, or giving orders, in this case.

“If you call me another stupid pet name of yours I will fire you,” Hanzo threatens.

“Do as I asked, Shimada-san,” McCree politely says and a smug smile spreads on Hanzo’s lips at the small victory. “Sweetheart,” he finishes and goes back to his task, throwing cover fire at the window and the suspicious black -is it black?- car that stopped moments ago when everything went fubar.

Hanzo processes what McCree has said, still mumbling curses in Japanese at the _sweetheart_ , and removes his clammy hands from over his thighs to pick the phone and, with a calm that only a Shimada possesses, types swiftly a message to the driver to wait at the back alley and keeps the phone on the inner pocket of his jacket.

A squeaking of tires and a halt on the rain of bullets may indicate the danger has passed, but McCree will keep barking orders at him until they are safe. He likes giving orders in these situations when he is doing his job and can boss Hanzo around. Only the gods know why.

“Stay down,” McCree says and risks a peek over the table.

 _Another gunshot_.

This time Hanzo is aware of it, awfully aware since McCree flinches and covers his face with an arm that won’t be enough to stop a bullet but he does it anyway out of raw instinct. A mean bullet skims to his left hand. Hanzo listens to the noise of broken glass, bottles smashed by the impact of the projectile on the farthest side of the room, and the screaming again. Why people have to scream? Get under the table and wait, silently, for the storm to stop. A life as a member of a yakuza family does that to you, Hanzo wonders.

McCree’s gun is loud as much as his owner, and he fires back fast. Hanzo knows his bodyguard’s marksmanship is unmatched, that’s why he has the job -among other things- and the last reinforcement, probably abandoned by the others, falls down death with a thump. The screaming recedes, people are fleeing the place, and McCree stands.

“Son of a bitch,” McCree curses.

The calm slowly comes back to the restaurant and indecisive waiters follow the customers around the place, weighing the damage. The bullets were not mean for them. Hanzo is still lying on the floor, glancing up at that broad man who is scrutinizing the surroundings. His unnecessarily big and old-fashioned gun pointed at the void, ready to fire again and fill their ears with more thunder like noises, but, as its name, only peace follows.

McCree extends a hand to him and Hanzo takes it and stands with his help. Not that he needs it. He is about to mumble his thanks when he remembers the sweetheart and decides he doesn’t even deserve that. His hair has come loose, hair tie nowhere to be seen, so he smoothes it back and tucks it behind his ears while his bodyguard watches him with a grin.

“Yer welcome,” McCree says.

Hanzo ignores him and dusts his clothes from any dirt attached to his ink blue Gucci suit as though he just tripped from the stairs instead of having faced an attempt of assassination against him. It isn’t the first, won't be the last, Hanzo knows. A short man approaches him nervously, rubs his hands and shudders when Hanzo’s black eyes acknowledge his presence.

“Do not worry, Shimada-sama,” the owner assures him, sweating profusely. “We will take care of everything and there will be no report to the police.”

“Put it on my tab,” Hanzo says curtly. “Everything.”

“Thank you, Shimada-sama,” the man babbles and goes away, too afraid to tempt his luck.

McCree presses a friendly, warm hand on the crook of his back and Hanzo huffs a protest but yields and lets the man guide him to the back of the restaurant, the kitchen, and the back entrance where his car is already waiting for them, back door already opened.

McCree is efficient, Hanzo has to give him that, at how he handles these situations, how he puts his wits to it every time and gets him out unharmed; the salary is worth the effort though. They sit side by side in the backseat, the soft black leather of the Mercedes smells wonderful and brand new no matter how much time has passed and Hanzo sighs at the familiarity.

An intruding hand grabs the phone from inside his jacket while McCree grants him a half-smile and fumbles through his Japanese to give the driver directions. Hanzo snorts at his poor attempt, he always mocks him about it and McCree hates it, so he smirks at how he struggles with the pronunciation though his words are accurate, as one would expect after so many years in Japan.

For two years McCree has been working for the Shimada-gumi but Hanzo knows he has been living here for at least two more. As well as he knows why he is hiding here in his country instead of living in the US as the cowboy he is. There is a juicy bounty on his head, pissed the wrong people, people he worked for in the past, a gang, McCree told him one night they over shared details of their lives.

Hanzo is aware of the Deadlock Gang and McCree’s implications on it. It is not a secret and the Shimada-gumi don’t hire without a proper look at the past. No one is clean, but McCree fits the job, he is a good asset as he has proven himself so far. His father hired him, Hanzo has to endure him every day. At least his cowboy attire has been replaced with black suits though the hat is still there.

McCree discusses the details of their course of action on the phone, presumably with his father and Hanzo rolls his eyes at how they ignore him or his wishes because, in the end, the cowboy answers to Sojiro Shimada and not him or Genji.

“Genji,” Hanzo mumbles and takes his phone out to find it is a wreck and the screen isn’t working, so he urges McCree to finish the call so he can use his instead.

“Yes, Shimada-sama,” McCree says and ignores Hanzo’s urgent eyes until the call is over and Hanzo steals the phone from his hands. “Jesus Christ!”

Hanzo calls Genji. He doesn’t pick the phone, and he swallows nervously and tries again while McCree watches him with a sly smile. “Speak,” Hanzo orders.

“Genji is fine,” McCree says.

“Why didn’t you say so, then?” Hanzo complains and tosses the phone on McCree’s lap, annoyed at his bodyguard’s unprofessionalism. He doesn’t even understand why his father hasn’t fired him yet at all the licenses he allows himself around Hanzo or Genji, and still, he is damn good at his job as recent events prove.

“Why can't ya’ ask nicely for once?” McCree says and sighs.

“I have nothing to _ask_ from you,” Hanzo growls. “I own you.”

Hanzo scowls at McCree and glimpses a spark of hate in his gaze at his words because they are true. The cowboy is under the Shimada-gumi protection and that’s why no one is trying to kill or bust his ass as long as he doesn’t leave Japan, but his freedom is tied to a complicated alliance with a yakuza clan and, on top of that, he has to take Hanzo’s bullets as if they were his own.

None of them say a word for the rest of the ride, the roaring engine is the only thing filling the silence and Hanzo’s gaze wanders, lost in the lights of the city. It is in those moments when he realizes how close he is to die and he is only twenty-eight. And by fact, he knows it will only get worse over time. He will inherit his father’s crime empire and will have to commit to a life of endless war and bloodbaths. Hanzo will, happily, he’s been groomed for it, born for it, he is the firstborn, and the Shimada-gumi is his by right. Absorbed in his thoughts Hanzo frowns at the unfamiliar streets he sees through the car’s windows.

“Where are we going?” Hanzo says and turns to look at McCree and that half-smile of his that creeps up his lips.

“Ma’ place, darling,” McCree says.

“No, we are not,” Hanzo says. “Turn around, to my apartment,” he orders the driver who apologizes but doesn’t turn around or changes the route. “This is nonsense.”

“Your father orders, princess.”

“Do _not_ call me that,” Hanzo hisses and swears he will kill the man as soon as he has his truthful katana within his reach.

“It is the safest place,” McCree chuckles. “No one knows where I live, no one would expect you to be there. Perfect plan.”

“We could accomplish the same thing booking a room in a hotel,” Hanzo states and hopes the cowboy falls for it.

“Ya’ would want a five-star hotel. There’s only two ya’ tolerate in Hanamura, I bet your enemies know that too,” McCree winks. “Could be dangerous if they follow up with another attack an’ we don't have the backups mobilized yet.”

“How do you…?” Hanzo frowns.

“’Cause yer a princess,” McCree snorts and endures the harsh nudge from Hanzo that meant to hurt more than it did. Hanzo fumes inwardly at the prospect of a night in McCree’s hovel and pinches the bridge of his nose.

The place is terribly small, a crowded tower of capsule apartments that Hanzo wasn’t even aware they still existed. At least is clean and neat which surprises him; the small couch seems comfortable enough, even cozy with all those cushions and blankets spared around with no order.

“Ya’ can sleep on my bed,” McCree says when he notices him staring and points at a door on the far end of the enclosed living room. The kitchenette is on the other end, separated from the space with an austere dining table presumably for four but that could barely hold two people eating at the same time. The cowboy rests his hat there and winks at him.

Hanzo sighs and unbuttons his jacket while he slumps unceremoniously on the couch and bounces at the little resistance of the material. McCree goes to the kitchen and brings three glasses and a bottle of bourbon. He pours two servings and offers one to Hanzo, who takes it a little hesitant and smells at it doubtful.

“It ain’t that kind of poison,” McCree rolls his eyes and sips at his drink.

“I am not judging if it’s safe,” Hanzo says, inspecting the color against the light -bright copper-. “Only if it’s edible.” Hanzo smells the toffee and butterscotch -pleasant- he sips, and then he tries to mask his surprise. He sips again, and hums, satisfied. The sweetness, mouth coating, honeyed notes, gently sweet, the taste of something rich, old, cowboy-like, Hanzo snorts faintly at the occurrence in his brain.

“Yer welcome,” McCree says, lifting his glass to Hanzo in a silent toast.

“Why three?” Hanzo asks with a smug smile and the taste of that wonderful bourbon lingering in his throat.

“Genji is on his way.”

The door opens and his little brother comes in. He has keys to the place, Hanzo notices and frowns, but then he rolls his eyes at his attire because those black skinny jeans should be illegal somewhere, the neon green shirt pops under the black blazer, and matches his hair so dreadfully well Hanzo knows Genji did it on purpose. A new piercing adorns his eyebrow, added to a collection of several in each ear and, as always, the sweetest smile paints his lips.

“I can’t even go clubbing now,” Genji complains. “Are you planning on getting shot often?”

“I am fine, thank you,” Hanzo says harshly and sips his drink.

“You are with our favorite cowboy,” Genji purrs. “Nothing bad will happen to you.”

“Speak for yourself,” Hanzo hisses.

McCree chuckles and musses Genji’s hair lovingly, like a brother would do. Hanzo smiles at the gesture; as much as he can’t stand the man, he treats his brother well and he can respect that. The little sparrow needs love and a spanking, sometimes, not that he would take care of that.

“Here, take it slow…“ McCree warns, offering him a drink, but Genji gulps down the liquor in one go as if it were a mere shot of poison instead of a fine Kentucky bourbon. “Oh boy, you just committed a crime there, ya’ know?”

“I am afraid you are casting pearls before swine,” Hanzo says and extends his arm to McCree for a refill which he gets in spite of the shock of the head he earns from him.

“Indeed I am, what a fool,” McCree says as he finishes and Hanzo sips again with a smug smile before he realizes the bottle has barely for a couple more drinks and he makes a mental note to replace that for McCree. As a gratitude gesture, for saving his life. Not that he needs to; Hanzo… wants to. It is not a bad bourbon for what McCree can afford but he can raise it, for sure.

“Who brought you?” McCree asks Genji, surely concerned.

“A friend,” Genji says. “No one saw us, we were careful, and I followed your instructions.”

“Well then,” McCree says and relaxes, finally sitting next to Hanzo on the couch. “My home is your home, folks.”

“I got an idea,” Genji says, jumping between them on the couch and resting his feet on the coffee table in front of them. “Why don’t we watch one of your old cowboy movies?”

“Oh please,” Hanzo says. “Save us the trouble, Genji.”

“Anija!”

“Don’t we have enough with one annoying cowboy?” Hanzo says and glances amusingly at McCree who narrows his eyes at him.

Hanzo chuckles at the squabble. He takes pleasure in annoying the cowboy, even insulting him sometimes. It is lovely how he purses his lips and bites his cheek trying to come up with a prod not offensive enough but one that he can get away with. Most times he manages to do it, not tonight, apparently. He finishes his second drink when he runs his hand through his hair and notices the dust and debris disgustingly stuck on it and he stands.

“I need a shower,” Hanzo states and follows McCree to his room, leaving Genji busy choosing a movie and setting the television.

“After you,” McCree opens the door to his room too ceremoniously and even mocks a reverence.

The bedroom is crowded with a double sized bed, a built-in closet, and a drawer. There is an adjacent bathroom at his left, and Hanzo pries in and hums a faint approval. Small but functional, it’ll do. McCree rummages inside a drawer and collects a few things for Hanzo.

“M’ sorry it’s not what you’re used to,” McCree lets the bundle on a corner of the bed and rubs the back of his neck.

“It’ll do,” Hanzo says and frowns at McCree’s face. It is like he wants to smile, maybe a little embarrassed by his humble longings and, is that a faint blush on his cheeks? A _thank you_ burns at the back of his throat but Hanzo bites his tongue, arrogance runs in the family, though it has skipped his brother, luckily.

McCree nods and leaves him be, joining Genji in the living room. Hanzo sighs, he should’ve said thank you. He undresses and checks the bundle: a towel, grey sweatpants -cotton, thank the gods- and a simple black shirt with a white print on the front. Simple enough. McCree is tall, a good six inches taller than him and he is a bit annoyed that the clothes may look baggy on him, but he can’t sleep on his suit.

The warm water of the shower is a blessing, and if Hanzo closes his eyes and focuses, he can imagine for a brief moment he is in his own apartment under the powerful stream of his shower cabin and that the floor of the bathroom will be warm and cozy once he steps out. But then he realizes he has to use the cowboy’s “two in one” _-_ _really_ _-_ shampoo and he groans in frustration and scrubs his goatee, missing already the soft foam he uses for it too.

When he is out and dressed up, he feels out of place, but he is determined to make the best of it and not let his little brother or the cowboy ruin the rest of his night, even if he has to watch “Unforgiven” for the ninth time.

He comes out the bedroom, wet hair, the shirt tucked in the baggy sweatpants he has tied tightly around his lower waist, and Hanzo snorts when he spots Genji on his boxers, no blazer, legs over the cowboy’s lap and barely covered by a blue checkered blanket. The green dragon on his right shoulder is bright and beautiful, and extends to his wrist, a mark that joins them both in more ways anyone could imagine. The attitude makes Hanzo suspect it is not the first time his little brother has been here.

McCree has gotten rid of his blazer and his feet rest on the coffee table. He acknowledges Hanzo’s presence and, suddenly, an eat-shitting grin conquers his face at the sight of Hanzo. The twin tattoo of Genji, a blue dragon roaring on his flesh catches McCree’s eye and Hanzo smiles triumphantly because, even now, he looks awesome.

Then Genji starts laughing, a loud guffaw that fills the room and Hanzo frowns at how he points at him and keeps laughing, almost slumping down the couch. McCree joins him, shyly, a snort, a chuckle, then a hearty genuine laugh and Hanzo is pissed.

“Any of you want to brief me in?” He says and changes the weight on his feet, annoyed at the situation.

“Oh, darlin’,” McCree says and shakes his head while Hanzo arches an eyebrow at him.

“The shirt, anija,” Genji says and laughs again.

“I’m wearing a cowboy shirt,” Hanzo says. “How is that even funny?” The shirt said something about riding and cowboy, probably some stupid saying, not that he would pay attention to anything but that he wouldn’t get a rash from wearing it.

“Save a horse, ride a cowboy,” Genji says and his outrageous laugh fills the room again.

Hanzo’s cheeks burn red and he can _feel_ it. McCree’s eyes are on him, mocking him, the stupid shirt he is too aware of now sits wrong over his skin. The damn fool dares to lift his glass at him and sip. Vengeance, retaliation, Hanzo is angry and wants to growl at him. Genji’s snickering isn’t helping.

In a single movement, Hanzo removes the shirt, wrinkles it on a bundle and throws it directly into McCree’s face but that doesn’t stop him from laughing, though the noise gets muffled briefly, but, when he removes the fabric from his eyes, it stops. Hanzo furrows his brow while McCree roams his eyes shamelessly over him, intensifying the red on his cheeks if possible, and Hanzo swears he has seen his Adam's apple bob in his throat. The thirsty ogling overwhelms him. McCree finishes his drink, no smile on his parted lips, only a spark Hanzo can’t identify but one that unsettles his stomach and makes him shiver.

He decides he has had enough. Genji is catching his breath, unaware of everything happening in the room, as always, and Hanzo sits -at the lack of any other seat- at McCree’s side, shirtless and flustered. The cowboy clears his throat and makes room for him, but their arms brush.

“Don't want ya’ catching a cold or anythin’,” McCree says and hands him another blanket he rescues from behind his backside.

“Hm,” Hanzo grunts and takes it, leaving it unattended in his lap.

McCree presses play again and the movie resumes, Hanzo knows exactly what part it is, he hasn’t missed much. He won’t let those two brats mock him and take him for a joke. His brain already plotting the worst vengeance possible.

“Ya can always wear it backward,” McCree leans over his shoulder and whispers.

“I can always slit your throat in your sleep,” Hanzo replies, eyes on the television in front of him while he represses, with all his self-control, a twitch on the corner of his lip that wants to be a smile at the prank and ends up being a grimace.

“You'd miss me, honey,” McCree says. “There are more shirts on the first drawer, underwear too forgot to lend ya’ one.”

“I’m going commando, cowboy,” Hanzo says and smirks when McCree shifts nervously at his side and blushes. Hanzo finds doing that too easy sometimes, a cute boy with a cute smile will steal a _howdy_ from him in no time, the right brush or touch, a deep blush. Easy cowboy.

McCree rolls the white shirt over his elbows. Suits him, Hanzo thinks and then he notices it, that purplish shadow on McCree’s left wrist. A thick line blurring at the edges. A bullet burn. Something that will mark the cowboy’s body forever as a reminder of tonight because of him. Hanzo frowns and grabs McCree’s wrist without thinking, without asking for permission because he owns him, he need not ask for it. He runs gently his thumb over a couple of times. Can’t feel it, but can see it. Lucky cowboy.

“It’s nothing,” McCree says and frees the hand from his hold meeting his gaze, winking. Cute.

Hanzo dozes and leans on McCree’s shoulder, waking up quickly to avoid the contact as though he’s been caught doing something he shouldn’t. Before the movie is over he stands and announces he is going to sleep and heads to the bedroom. He’s cold and the sheets bless him with a warmth he craves. They smell of him and he wrinkles his nose but then inhales deeply. Familiar, sweet, spicy butterscotch, like a good bourbon.

He wakes up when Genji joins and holds him. It annoys him when his little brother sleeps with him, spooning him and breathing heavily on his neck. But he doesn’t complain, not tonight. Genji whispers how worried he has been. Hanzo believes him and shushes him before falling asleep again. He loves his little brother to bits, so much he wishes he was him sometimes, free to fly and wander around doing what he wants, who he wants with. And then he falls asleep and dreams about cowboys, annoying, grumpy, dreadfully charming, shamelessly sexy cowboys. _Jesse_. And wakes up with a racing heart twice that night.

The next morning, Hanzo leaves Genji sleeping on the bed, he knows by experience he won’t be awake until noon. He goes to the bathroom to freshen up, cold water and mouthwash are his best friends this morning. His hair is a mess, he suspects, but nothing a quick finger comb in the mirror can’t fix. Yesterday’s clothes wait for him patiently on a chair and he suits up quickly, rolls the shirt up his elbows and leaves the jacket behind.

McCree’s awake, standing near the kitchen table, open shirt leaving uncovered a good amount of brown fuzz on his chest and down his navel, gathering beautifully and getting lost inside his boxers. He is not wearing pants. Hanzo clears his throat and meets the cowboy’s gaze now aware of his presence. He could’ve had the decency to get dressed, Hanzo thinks.

“Morning, Shimada-san,” McCree says. “There are eggs on the stove, rice and miso soup in case you are hungry.”

“Good,” Hanzo says and his lips part to articulate a polite thank you when McCree interrupts him.

“Your apartment is safe, no intrusions or anythin’,” McCree informs him. “I will take a shower and your hell will be over.”

The couch looks like an unmade bed and suddenly Hanzo wonders how has the cowboy huddled there all night with only a couple of blankets and too many cushions. Hanzo walks towards the table, trying not to stare at the man unabashedly crossing his path half naked and tipping an invisible hat. “Yer welcome,” he mutters and disappears into his bedroom.

The food smells good, his stomach makes a protest and grumbles, so Hanzo sits and eat. It is good. Better than he has expected. Runny eggs, clearly the cowboy’s choice but weirdly exactly how he likes them. Perfect, in fact. Hanzo sighs, at least he will be home soon, his apartment, his clothes, his loneliness. All his. He spots the bottle completely empty on the coffee table and knits his eyebrows. McCree has been drinking the remains surely, there was not much left.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A bit of McCree because he's my favorite boy ever <3 (Our cowboy has a crush on Hanzo, what a surprise...)

The Shimada building stands out in the middle of the business district of Hanamura. It is the highest skyscraper in the city, a tower of black steel and concrete, black tinted windows, and the Shimada logo shining in bright gold in the main front like an elegant reminder of who rules the city. Two dragons eating each other in an endless vice circle greet Hanzo and McCree when he pushes the main doors and gets inside the lean hall. McCree remembers as though it was yesterday when he met Sojiro in this same building two years ago.

McCree ran away from his gang after a disagreement where he was supposed to kill someone and, instead, he released the hostage, lost the ransom, and had to flee from his country with nothing more than Peacekeeper and his hat. He was a kid -naïve- when he joined the Deadlock Gang at seventeen; a kid with too many high hopes in his heart to make a living out of an easy life and he fucked up; he realized when he was twenty-three, a good for nothing, and a killer, in a band that respected nothing.

Dealing with drugs and weapons was okay as long as he didn’t know who received the cargo, he didn’t care. Dealing with people’s lives? It was a big _nope_ for him. He refused to cross the line and lose his heart in the process, so McCree left.

He ended up in Japan, stopped for a few months in a few other countries along the way, but Japan sank in his heart deeply. Perhaps it has to do with the spring and those beautiful, heavenly pink petals swirling in the wind at every corner. His first night in the foreign country, McCree slept under a cherry tree, wrapped in his serape, in the middle of a park, and woke up in a bed of blossoms. The morning sun seeping through the branches right into his eyes. He smiled until he had to run away from the police when his presence was acknowledged.

Washing dishes, errand boy, delivery man, anything. He’d do anything but kill, and yet, he kept Peacekeeper with him along with his hat. It took him almost two years to find a place he couldn’t afford and then the fights came. McCree was used to them, he had fought in the gang, for money, for pleasure, for respect. He’d do it again if that meant a hot meal and a warm bed at night.

Though those fights had nothing to do with the previous ones. He found a sponsor through a contact in a gym, suffered from unfair fights where “The American” got a beating more often than not. Still, he made a living out of it, won his fair share of fights too. Until that night.

The doors of the elevator open in front of him and he lets Hanzo in first, so polite, and so shameless taking a good sidelong at that Shimada ass he’d love to take a bite, but can’t. Though this time Hanzo busts him and scowls at him as always. So pretty and so mean, Jesse thinks, but he gets away with it with a wink.

It will take time to get to the last floor, where Sojiro’s office is, and McCree swallows at the memory invading his mind again. That night. McCree is a southpaw, makes a mean adversary in a boxing ring and even a worst one in an illegal fight where he doesn’t have to measure the blows and the sucker punches are the only valid ones to guarantee your survival.

He fights, he punches the air, the sweat on his eyes, the blood, the dizziness. Too long, a damn too long fight, but he fights because he has to eat, he has to pay the rent, he can’t come back to his country, and he wants to see the next cherry trees blossoming over his face. So McCree fights, fierce, merciless, and wins.

His first -and last- match to the death. He doesn’t kill his opponent, doesn’t want to; that was never the plan. He knocks him out and leaves a bleeding mess on the concrete floor. It was grey, now it’s red, but he is alive, McCree knows because he didn’t want to kill him.

His sponsor orders him to end the poor bastard’s life. McCree ignores him, loses the wages even if he has won, and stumbles to the locker room spitting blood and hugging the few ribs he still has unbroken. A man follows him. Tall, dark hair, royal, regal presence. McCree thinks that’s it. He’s pissed a big bug, and he is in no shape to fight or flee.

“I have a son your age,” Sojiro says.

McCree stares back at him, snorts but can’t find a reply. A son. His age. How old is he? In the heat of the fight, he can’t remember he is only twenty-five. He’s been in Japan for two long years that felt like ten and he still struggles with the language. He takes the business card Sojiro offers and, as soon as he can leave his bed, he is in that elevator, the same one he is now with another two years on his back.

“McCree? Move!” Hanzo says, holding the elevator doors for him and arching a questioning eyebrow.

Jesse smiles because he has learned he can suffer and lose many things in his life but not his smile. That belongs to him and to the ones who see it. Hanzo’s lip twitches upward and his heart skips a beat. The day he sees him truly smile he’s going to faint, McCree chuckles inwardly.

Sojiro’s presence fills the room and McCree believes the only other person that can do that is Hanzo. Beautiful, gorgeous creature, mean as a snake, no bark, harsh bite, McCree knows and yet he is drawn to him like a moth to the light but swallows back the thoughts, the ideas, the fantasies and buries everything where no one could ever find it. It wouldn’t do any good.

Hanzo greets his father with a bow and McCree mimics him, slightly behind Hanzo, respectful, no pet names -he lectures his brain- albeit the last time he called Hanzo sweetheart in front of Sojiro he laughed his ass off so hard it scared the hell out of them; and the pink on Hanzo’s cheeks was the best part.

“I am glad to see you in one piece,” Sojiro says in Japanese and McCree sharpens his ear to understand. “And the little sparrow is safe too.” Hanzo nods, knowing Genji is still safely making use of McCree’s apartment.

Sojiro stands and invites Hanzo to sit on the old Chester that presides his office. McCree stands nearby, his hands at his back, straight, he even looks like a good boy and, when Sojiro looks away to grab a datapad from his desk, Hanzo rolls his eyes at him and the show he is putting up in front of his father. McCree grins.

“We do not know who tried to kill you,” Sojiro says and sits next to Hanzo, showing him something on the datapad. “Yet.”

“No one has claimed it?” Hanzo frowns. Usually when a yakuza-gumi attempts an assassination like last night’s they want to spread the word as soon as possible, even if it is a failed attempt. War is war, warnings are equally important than facts because it may lead to a negotiation depending on the strength of the clan.

“No,” Sojiro glances at McCree for a moment. “There will be a meeting soon with the Elders. I will handle it.”

“As you wish, father,” Hanzo says.

It surprises McCree how pliant is Hanzo around Sojiro or Genji and how stiff he is with him, complaining about every little thing he says or does. McCree can’t even buy him a coffee without suffering a scowl, a frown or an exasperated sigh when it’s too sweet or not sweet enough. Though sometimes he gets a smirk.

“I have already discussed your security with McCree,” Sojiro says and clears his throat. “I am afraid we cannot assume the worst has passed, they have gone after the Shimada-gumi heir, _my heir_ ,” Sojiro remarks.

“Genji can stay with me,” Hanzo suggests.

“Yes, though he has requested to stay at McCree’s apartment with his own security and I agree it is better if you are not in the same place,” Sojiro says and pauses. “In case something happens. We won’t spare on security, we have mobilized our informants and we have many eyes around Hanamura, if something moves in the wrong way, we’ll know.”

“Very well, father,” Hanzo says, knitting his eyebrows, and McCree knows he pretty much would like to keep Genji safe himself.

“McCree will stay with you,” Sojiro says and grants McCree a nod he returns politely.

“As though I could get rid of him,” Hanzo snorts and rolls his eyes.

“I mean at your apartment,” Sojiro says and lifts his hand in the air to stop his oldest son to complain, anticipating his rage. “I want him with you at all times. This situation is still uncertain.”

“I do not need a babysitter,” Hanzo inhales deeply and McCree can’t suppress a snort.

“Until we figure this out I am not taking any unnecessary risks,” Sojiro says and frowns. “I trust you with his life, McCree.”

Sojiro pierces him with his eyes, black as a void, same as Hanzo’s, same as Genji’s, though very different. They glitter with wisdom, pain, and repent, things clearly absent in the children. McCree bows his head and a _yes, sir_ leaves his lips without thinking. This is not his dream job, not by far, he has to kill but it is something that gets lost, blurred, in what you could call self-defence.

Hanzo is pissed, he notices because he wrinkles his nose and rolls his eyes more often and he avoids looking at him even though McCree has his eyes fixed in that naughty lock of hair he wants to tuck behind his ear. He won’t lie to himself, his heart is thumping hard since he heard Sojiro say he wants him with Hanzo twenty-four seven. It is going to be a heavenly nightmare for sure.

McCree waits patiently until the two men finish their talk, the details, Shimada-gumi stuff, private stuff; and he is there, waiting. He is close to the family, he is aware Sojiro is fond of him somehow. He has spent the last three Christmas with them, birthdays, family dinners, he has shared jokes and conversations, but McCree knows his place, doesn’t want to tempt his luck and ruin the careful house of cards piling for the last two years. In the end, they are yakuza and he is an asset.

Two hours after, they are again in the elevator to resume their day. Hanzo is a creature of habit, they will get a coffee first, replace Hanzo’s phone, find Genji, arrange McCree’s things to stay with him and then get bored to death while Hanzo works. His ten hours a day has just been extended to twenty-four and McCree sighs loudly without noticing.

“You are as annoyed as me,” Hanzo says and arches an eyebrow at him.

“I’m following commands, darlin’,” McCree says.

“At least you can make me breakfast in the morning,” Hanzo teases.

“Did ya’ like it?” McCree says and chuckles.

“It was surprisingly bearable,” Hanzo says.

“Ya’ say the nicest things to me, sweetheart,” McCree croons. “Yer welcome.”

The day goes as expected, a busy morning followed by a tedious afternoon. They eat at Rikkimaru’s with Genji and they both exasperate Hanzo slurping their noodles loudly until they are both red and laughing. McCree likes Hanzo’s angry face a little too much, especially how easy is to achieve that, easier than a smile that’s for sure.

The younger Shimada, sparrow, is the sweetest boy -even if he is already twenty-five- McCree has ever met. The first thing he did when he saw the saggy cowboy was to steal his hat and wear it, pretending he was a cowboy himself, shooting with his fingers at invisible targets in the air. McCree connected quickly with him, and he thought he would be in charge of his security, but then Hanzo arrived.

Those black judging eyes pierced him like nothing else as though McCree needed another hole in his head -or his heart-. Hanzo proved to be a challenge since the beginning. Spoiled, annoying, paid of himself but he accepted his presence and, surprisingly, it was an easy task working with him.

 _I have a son your age_ , Sojiro said and McCree wondered what he saw in him that night and why he wanted a reputed killer, an outlaw, a man with a bounty on his head to take care of his firstborn. It still puzzles him sometimes when he is mildly drunk and thinks too much, right before he sinks himself into the depths of his most unspeakable dreams and finds Hanzo there.

 

Many lonely nights and spending too much time with the princess has begun to take its toll. McCree lifts his eyes from the pad in his hands and glances at Hanzo. He is working on his laptop in the middle of the luxurious and spacious apartment. Not like his crowded little place. Clean lines, soft colors, the largest television he has ever seen, a fireplace on the other side of the room. Sometimes if he’s not paying attention, he thinks he could get lost.

Hanzo meets his gaze and McCree realizes he’s been staring, so he shifts nervously. Spending time with Hanzo is not a problem, but the days fell into a routine strange for both but weirdly familiar now. One he doesn’t want to get used to because it will have an end, and yet, the days go by fast.

“Do you think Genji is safe there?” Hanzo asks, closing the laptop and joining him on the farthest side of the enormous couch presiding the room.

“He’s with Takeshi-kun, the man knows my ways and I trust him,” McCree says.

“That is not what I have asked,” Hanzo says and crosses his legs distractedly.

“Genji’s safe,” McCree says and Hanzo nods, apparently convinced by his answer.

When you’ve spent so many years working with a gang you learn things you can use against them if you want. That’s what McCree has to offer to the Shimada-gumi. He knows how to kidnap someone, how to deliver a cargo, how to deal with a mafia. Sojiro learned that and put him to a good use. An asset. His marksmanship impressed him too.

Hanzo takes his phone out and types at it distractedly. McCree flinches when a glimpse of a chuckle leaves his lips and stares at him. Hanzo has a sly smile that curls his stomach, he has seen it before and means trouble, well, trouble for someone, not for him. He doesn’t like it, anyway. The Shimada catches him staring, again, it’s been a long week.

“What?” Hanzo says.

“Nothin’,” McCree lies and tries to focus on the datapad. “It wouldn’t be sound to go on a date, remember the incident at the restaurant.” Hanzo narrows his eyes and purses his lips before the smug smile comes back to his face.

“It’s not a date, it’s a fuck,” Hanzo says and keeps typing on the phone. “But I am canceling my plans.”

“Look at me, ruining your sex life,” McCree says and snorts, but he can’t help the half-smile that follows.

It’s not like Hanzo has a new lover every day, but he is no monk either. Usually, his presence is not required, and he only acknowledges the men he dates -fucks- by sight, but the truth is a pang of jealousy attacks him more often than not. Not because Hanzo is the most gorgeous man he has ever seen, not because he wants to bury his face in that silky hair and sweat shamelessly all over him -that, he does- but because no matter what he feels Hanzo is someone he can’t have, and it’s breaking his heart.

“I know ya’ ain’t like me in here but…” McCree says, gloomier than he means.

“I never said such thing,” Hanzo says curtly. “But if you make more of that stinky bacon in the morning…”

McCree chuckles and rubs the back of his neck. It is true, Hanzo hisses, and he is annoying, curt, stubborn, awfully quiet sometimes, he will get wrinkles soon at how much he frowns during the day, but he has never said he doesn’t want McCree there. Not once.

“Ya’ liked the bacon if I recall,” McCree teases.

“I do not want my house stinking like bacon all day,” Hanzo says. “Besides, you burnt it.”

“I like the crunchy bits, what can I say?” McCree wiggles his eyebrows playfully.

The house comm chimes and Hanzo stares at McCree from his comfortable corner of the couch and the cowboy rolls his eyes. Of course, he is in charge of the door, so he stands with a loud grunt and ambles to the main entrance. It’s the doorman who wants to deliver a package for Hanzo.

“Did ya’ order something?” McCree says and frowns.

“Not that I remember,” Hanzo says from the couch.

McCree opens the door, the familiar face of the doorman greets him and his frown intensifies at the heavy box in his hands. A plain brown box, no identification, only Hanzo’s address. It bristles every fiber on his body.

“Leave that on the floor of the elevator,” McCree says and pulls the doorman inside the apartment grabbing ungently his elbow while the man mumbles something in Japanese that Jesse isn’t paying attention to.

Hanzo stands and joins them at the hall but McCree lifts an arm and stops him. “Don’t get any closer, sweetheart,” he says and Hanzo rolls his eyes and curses the damn pet name.

“It is not a bomb,” Hanzo says and arches an eyebrow.

“Have ya’ check this at the scanner of the building?” McCree asks.

“Yes,” the man says. “It arrived this morning.”

“I told you it’s not a bomb,” Hanzo snorts. “I ordered something a couple of days ago and I forgot.”

McCree sighs and curses Hanzo for not letting him know in advance and apologizes repeatedly with endless bows to the doorman who laughs and gets in the elevator while McCree grabs the box, surely heavier than it looked, and carries it to the coffee table in front of the couch.

“There ya’ go, want me to open it in case it’s really a bomb?” McCree teases and relishes in the sweet half-smile of Hanzo.

“Go ahead,” he invites with a hand while he sits again on the couch and watches attentively. “I wouldn’t want you to lose an arm or anything, be careful.”

“Yeah, I can see your concern, darlin’,” McCree says and rips carelessly a side of the box.

McCree grunts, confused, a wooden box is inside and he recognizes a familiar logo on a side _Van Winkle’s_ he reads, and his heart stops. He raises his eyes to glance at Hanzo who portrays that smirk he likes so much while urging him to keep going, pointing with his head at the unopened wooden box.

He complies, floating in a cloud of dizziness when he finds four bottles of the finest bourbon -though he hasn’t had the chance to try it- carefully packed inside. McCree takes one, swallowing a lump in his throat, and weighs the thing in his hands. The warm caramel color waves inside and shines through the dim light of the room. Then he sees it: twenty years old bourbon. _Pappy Van Winkle’s Family Reserve_. Damn Shimada Hanzo, he curses inwardly.

“Holy shit,” McCree chuckles and glances at Hanzo. “Damn, ya’.”

“That was hard to get,” Hanzo says. “Can you believe they only produce ten bottles a year?”

“No shit,” McCree says and rolls his eyes. Surely Hanzo doesn’t care how much this costs, how pompous is to buy four bottles, oblivious to their existence until he wanted to buy them. “Ya’ sure gonna enjoy it, sweetheart.”

“Me?” Hanzo says and snorts. “This is a gift. For you.” He says and clears his throat, a glimpse of a true smile spreads on his lips. He’s sitting closer to him, in the middle of the haze he hasn’t noticed until now, and he is inspecting the bottles carefully. Not minding their legs brushing. He is so close McCree can smell the musky oils he uses on the goatee and the fine shampoo. So close and so far at the same time.

McCree is staring, he knows, he doesn’t care. That smile is genuine that smile is for him and he is there to witness it. He will treasure this in his mind, in his heart with all the nice things that have happened to him among the years. Things to go back to when he feels he can’t do it anymore when he has no reasons to keep going. Hanzo’s smile. His.

“I can’t,” McCree babbles. “This is too much.”

“Nonsense,” Hanzo dismisses the conversation.

“Will you let me share at least?” McCree says and shakes his head, still not believing that sweet smile was there even if it is fading into that smirk that suits him better.

“Let’s order sushi then,” Hanzo says. “I’m starving.”

 

They -McCree- order food, too much sushi that will probably last tomorrow too. He even remembers to get an extra ration of butterfish nigiri for Hanzo, his favorite. They talk, they laugh, McCree flirts -a little- he masks it with humor and Hanzo is surprisingly receptive tonight. Perhaps he dumped his date because of him. McCree shakes the thought quickly and lectures himself on how not to complicate his life any further making decisions with his…

“I ate too much,” Hanzo says and slumps back on the couch, closing his eyes. “Your fault.”

“Nobody told ya’ to eat all the butterfish, sweetheart,” McCree says.

“But it’s so good,” Hanzo says, hooded lids, calmed, sated. He is so relaxed McCree tries to recall when was the last time he has seen him like this. Maybe his last birthday, when he and the Shimada brothers drank too much, and then drank a little more and ended up in the family onsen stark naked.

Oh that night, McCree recalls and blushes deeply. He has never blessed his memory more than that morning when he woke up and remembered everything -everything- about that night at the onsen.

That beautiful long hair soaked in the water, the soft pink on Hanzo’s cheeks that turned a bright red as he took his clothes off following Genji in a rampage of destruction around the property. McCree stared at that round alabaster ass in front of him and got a mean boner. Hanzo threw him a towel and yelled something at him, something he didn’t hear because he didn’t care. Hanzo naked in front of him had him rattled.

McCree got in the water quickly, naked, aroused, hopeful that the darkness of the night would cover his naughty bits. It was the first time he saw Hanzo truly laugh and smile, guess sake can make anyone smile at any point, depending on how much you had to drink. And Hanzo had drunk an awful lot that night. And they flirted, shamelessly, openly, not minding Genji’s presence. But he didn’t make a move, Hanzo either, the moment passed and the morning after washed everything but his memories.

“You spaced out, cowboy,” Hanzo teases and startles McCree.

“Time to open one of those babies,” McCree says with a grin.

He goes to the kitchen and comes back with two glasses and one of the expensive bottles of bourbon. McCree hasn’t processed yet the expensive gift, and he feels the blush come up his cheeks again. He definitely didn’t expect Hanzo to be so attentive... with him.

Hanzo welcomes him with a chuckle, probably because of the stupid grin he can’t erase from his face while he sits again and opens, nervously, the bottle and pours carefully the golden liquid into the glasses. Smells like sweet dreams, McCree thinks while he sinks his nose in the glass and offers the other to Hanzo.

“We should toast or somethin’,” McCree says, thoughtful.

“You do the honors,” Hanzo says.

“To the Shimada-gumi,” McCree says.

“Kanpai!” Hanzo says raising his glass and sipping his drink at the same time McCree does.

McCree hums loudly, shamelessly, at the sweet spices and stewed fruits. Rich, strong, smooth as silk swiping down his throat. He has never in his life tasted a luxury like this. It reminds him of honey for a moment, not only the color but the depths of the sweetness invading his mouth. He opens his eyes and finds Hanzo glancing at him with a smug smile and he suddenly is a bit embarrassed by the noises leaving his mouth.

“Good?” Hanzo says.

“Heavenly.”

“You are welcome,” Hanzo quips, a little revenge for all the times McCree punishes him when he hasn’t thanked him for something that he should’ve.

“Yer so mean,” McCree says and chuckles, sipping again the sweet nectar of that bourbon he will treasure for many years. “Why did ya’ buy this?”

“It is a gift, I told you,” Hanzo says, relishing in the aftertaste of that expensive liquid that has made McCree so happy.

“But why? It ain’t my birthday.”

“You saved my life the other night,” Hanzo says but frowns at the insistence. It doesn’t matter the reasons why he wanted to gift McCree something, he just wanted to so he did.

“I was doing my job,” McCree says. “I already get paid for that.”

McCree curses his big mouth, he doesn’t want to sound like an ungrateful, he is just curious. His heart betrays him and burst with impatient at the wishful thinking that Hanzo might appreciate him as something more than an asset or a bodyguard. Tough McCree sighs and pushes those thoughts back where they belong: nowhere. He is a bodyguard.

“I wasn’t…” Hanzo says, hesitant. “This isn’t a payment.”

“Then why? ‘Cause ya’ drank my bourbon the other night?”

“Can’t you accept the gift and be done with it?” Hanzo says, truly annoyed at all the fuzz around a damn gift. McCree is… he struggles with the words, tries to find one that isn’t  bodyguard or… friend. No. He clicks his tongue.

“Ya’ could’ve bought a twenty bucks bottle not a two hundred, besides…” McCree mumbles and regrets the words that haven’t left his mouth but that startle his mind, nonetheless.

“Besides what?” Hanzo asks and swallows, expecting the worst. That he never does anything for anyone, a spoiled kid with too much money to spend, that…

“Ya’ do nothing’ without a purpose,” McCree finally murmurs and sips again at his drink. He wants to wash those words from his mouth but it is useless now. He is not being fair, nor a friend to Hanzo if that’s what they are. And damn if he is only his bodyguard he is crossing a line hard to come back from.

“You are being annoying,” Hanzo says, curtly. A stern face, eyes hidden by hooded lids and feathery black lashes. McCree can read in his face more than the angry bits on his frown and the corners of his mouth but the disappointment at his words. He has only seen him like this once when he and Genji fought and said harsh things to each other. They made up, but Hanzo had the same hurting eyes he has now, all hidden under a façade of strength as though he doesn’t care. But he does.

“Just tell me why,” McCree insists and turns to face him on the couch. His eyes watch him unabashedly, trying to coax an answer he won’t get because he has hurt him. If you hurt the dragon, you face the consequences.

“The only reason is I wanted to gift it to you,” Hanzo huffs. “Is that so hard to believe?” Hanzo meets his gaze. He won’t give him an answer, he won’t say what McCree wants. And what does he want? To know he isn’t more than what he believes?

“Ya’ ain’t done that to anyone but Genji or your father,” McCree says and swallows. “Not since I’ve known ya’.”

“Forget I’ve done so,” Hanzo puts his glass on the coffee table and stands, ready to leave. He’s been a fool believing this was a good idea. That’s what happens when you act without a plan, Hanzo thinks and curses inwardly. He walks swiftly towards the door. A pity the night has to end like this.

McCree panics, his heart speeds up because he has fucked up, maybe forever, but his heart has no more room for uncontrolled feelings bursting to bloom out of his chest at any moment. He’s a damn fool, it doesn’t matter why, the only thing that matters is Hanzo, spending time with him, watching him doze in the couch at night before he goes to bed, working with a permanent frown between his eyebrows, stealing food in the kitchen while he cooks, sharing his space, his apartment, his life, his time, with him.

He stands and goes after him without thinking, gripping his elbow as gently as his urgency allows him, a deep blush on his cheeks and an I’m sorry ready on his lips when Hanzo turns around, black hair framing his face, eyes glittering in the dim light of the room and a face that reveals nothing but says everything.

“Sweetheart…” McCree babbles in front of those black eyes that drown him every single time.

“Because I…” Hanzo mumbles and it scares McCree because he never does, he says things or he doesn’t but he never hesitates.

His phone chimes, McCree curses. Hanzo looks away and gets rid of the grip on his arm. His inner turmoil makes him pick up the phone from his pocket angrily, at himself, at the phone, at the stupid aftertaste of the bourbon still lingering on his lips.

“What?” McCree barks. “Genji? Slow down or speak English.”

Hanzo is at his side again, worry invading his eyes but he is stock still and doesn’t steal the phone from his hand even if his eyes threaten him to give away some information soon or he will.

“Ya’ got that thingy I gave ya’ on your phone?” A pause. “Alright then keep driving, slowly, don’t try to miss the car or anythin’ just drive and don't let them know.” Another pause. Hanzo is getting impatient and tense, McCree can feel it. “I’m on my way.”

“What happened?” Hanzo asks.

McCree runs to his room and hurries to wear the body holster and check Peacekeeper’s ammunition. Hanzo follows him and McCree reacts, knowing he has to brief him in or he will never leave the apartment.

“Someone’s following Genji’s car, he is safe and they are just following him, a black car the same brand and color from the other night,” McCree says.

“Let’s go then,” Hanzo says and goes to his bedroom for his weapon.

“No way, sweetheart, ya’ stay here,” McCree yells but Hanzo isn’t listening. McCree curses loudly and meets Hanzo in the living room when he is about to leave, he forgets his hat on his bed but there is no time.

“I am not staying,” Hanzo says, a death threatening look in his eyes.

McCree groans loudly and nods. He may have fucked things up but Hanzo intents to be the same annoying, stubborn, charm he is every day, which balms McCree’s heart for a few seconds before his mind goes back to Genji. He takes his phone out again and opens an app that will point exactly where the young sparrow is.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to everyone reading along and leaving nice comments and kudos! (*＾▽＾)／ They fuel my soul sooo much you wouldn't believe it <333
> 
> PDT: Such a shame they got interrupted there... *insert evil laugh*


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> McCree is just trying to do his job...

It’s drizzling in Hanamura and the drops fill the car with a tapping noise that would unwind the cowboy in any other circumstances. McCree’s driving, mumbling curses at Hanzo, who shouldn’t be there but is in the passenger seat, guiding him through the maze of streets of the city while they get to Genji. He is cursing at himself too, for being an asshole to Hanzo. Why couldn’t he just thank him for the gift and let it be?

“Can you trace me too?” Hanzo says and frowns.

“Hm, yeah,” McCree says. He’d love a smoke right now, that would definitely piss Hanzo off, smoking in his precious car.

“Five minutes to reach Genji,” Hanzo informs.

“Thank you kindly, darlin’,” McCree says and winks at Hanzo who scowls at him.

Too soon, McCree thinks and sighs, worried that tonight he has taken ten steps back with Hanzo just asking _why_ a hundred times, trying to get an answer from him that exists only in his imagination, or worse, his heart.

It’s getting darker, which won’t help the situation mixed with the rain. The lights are turning on and they reflect on the slippery and wet pavement. McCree sharpens his senses, he is going to need them. They don’t know who’s after Genji, presumably the same people that tried to kill Hanzo last week, but who? McCree chews over it in his mind trying to solve a puzzle with too many missing pieces.

Right behind a red Porsche, a few cars in front of him, McCree spots Genji’s sports car and takes a quick peek at Hanzo who nods, confirming he has recognized it too. He passes a car and holds behind a minivan. A red light; they stop.

“Seatbelt,” McCree orders Hanzo, but he blatantly ignores him while he types on his phone messages to Genji or his father. “Wear the damn seatbelt!” McCree barks and Hanzo glares at him. For a moment, McCree swallows, flicks his eyes uncomfortably between him and the road, and Hanzo secures the seatbelt over his chest without taking those piercing eyes from him, and without saying a word. A cold shiver runs through his spine.

A green light glows, illuminating the car, and they are moving again. The two-way street is busy, but the traffic flows, luckily for them. He doesn’t have a plan -yet- he is still pondering their options and how is he handling the situation. All McCree wants is Genji safe out of the reach of those bastards and then he wants them alive, at least one. McCree passes the minivan against traffic, invading the adjacent lane. The headlights of a car flash through his eyes and they leave behind a pissed driver and the faint noise of a horn getting lost in the distance.

And right in front of them, they find a deep blue -not black- BMW. McCree can’t see how many are inside. The car doesn’t even comply with safety regulations, all the windows are tinted. But if they haven’t shot at Genji’s car yet, there’s a big chance they are only following him tonight, which will give him the upper hand.

McCree glimpses Genji’s car at the front. The sumptuous dark grey Mercedes is the same as Hanzo’s. He keeps driving at a reasonable distance, the license plate reveals nothing weird. Then, the rear brake lights fill the inside of the car with a red glow and they stop. McCree curses, something’s off. A squeal of tires alerts him; the BMW notices their presence and takes a sharp right turn on the next street, speeding up and getting away fast.

“Not on my watch,” McCree mumbles and follows.

“But Genji!” Hanzo protests, pointing at his brother’s car that distances and follows up the street, apparently free of their enemies’ attention.

The engine of Hanzo’s car won’t be outrun easily, McCree knows, and he sinks his foot on the accelerator. A wolfish grin spreads on his lips when the motor growls deep and strong. Hanzo never allows him to drive, or eat, or smoke in his precious limited edition Mercedes and McCree chuckles inwardly, albeit he needed another reason to piss Hanzo off tonight. The wet streets are no match for those top tier tires, and he zig-zags the cars as though he is driving on a guide rail.

“Tell Genji to keep driving until we contact him again,” McCree yells and curses at an annoying slow car in his way while he tries to shorten the distance with the BMW. “We don't know if there are more o’ them.”

“You are driving like a madman!” Hanzo snarls and holds tightly the handrail.

“Told ya’ to stay home, princess,” McCree says and takes a turn to the left. He is not losing that car, and he is not coming back home empty handed.

“Do _not_ call me that,” Hanzo threatens, but his wobbly voice gives him away and McCree chuckles. He is not looking, but he can imagine Hanzo’s cheeks are burning red with rage.

McCree follows the car blindly through the streets and realizes they’re getting away from the major thoroughfares. They could be heading right into a nest full those bastards. He groans and speeds up. He is right behind them, just a little closer.

It’s pouring rain now, no traffic on the road, so he chases those red lights as though his life depends on it. They need to know who they are, who’s the enemy and what do they want from the Shimadas. Then he sees it. Someone sticks out from the passenger seat, weapon in hand, and gets ready to shoot at them.

“Get down!” McCree shouts to Hanzo and tries to put a safe distance between the cars.

The Shimada, already rolling down the window, ignores him and draws his own gun. A bullet impact gets stuck on the windshield -thank god for bulletproof glass- and the car shimmies dangerously because McCree is paying more attention to Hanzo than the road.

“No, damn, stay down!” McCree shouts again and tries, by no means, to stop Hanzo when he unfastens the seatbelt.

“Drive. I can take care of him,” Hanzo says with a calm that bristles McCree, and leans outside the window.

McCree curses in frustration, but drives, if Hanzo gets harmed tonight Sojiro will peel his skin off inch by inch. He takes a peek at Hanzo, grasping the handrail with white-knuckle force, half his body outside the window and pointing his gun as best as he can to the thug.

“Goddamnit, Hanzo!” McCree yells.

One, two, three shots. The slack body of their attacker hangs outside the window of the car, lifeless. Hanzo opens fire at the wheels and lands a mean shot that surprises McCree, busting the rear wheel. He gets back inside, mussed hair, sticking on his forehead and face, soaked by the rain, and a perilous smug smile that clenches McCree’s stomach in all the right places.

The BMW is out of control and skids on the wet surface. McCree slows down, trying to focus, and follows the vehicle until it crashes against the front of a building. The rain is pouring heavily on the streets, the noise makes company to their ragged breaths, adrenaline rushing through McCree’s veins, and he thanks inwardly that Hanzo is unharmed and safe. He stops the car at the side of the road and sees a stumbling man getting out of the crashed car and trying desperately to run away.

“Not today, partner,” McCree mumbles and gets out of the car nimbly, drawing Peacekeeper, and goes after him without thinking twice. “Stay inside,” he barks at Hanzo and prays to any gods out there for the Shimada to obey him this one time.

The thug gets in an alley and McCree darts in his direction. The rain is getting in his eyes and he regrets not having his truthful Stetson with him, forgotten in a corner of his bed at Hanzo’s apartment. A dim light coming from the streetlights illuminate his way. He can hear the splashing steps of the man in the run and follows. McCree hunts his prey.

He takes cover against the wall and risks a peek inside the alley when a bullet cuts the air too damn close to his face. McCree curses and tries again just to see the man running to a dead end. A mouse in a cage. A wolfish grin conquers his face, and he dashes into the street. The dark buildings framing the narrow tunnel darken the place and cast shadows over dumpsters and forgotten empty boxes.

Suddenly, his target sticks out from behind a shadow and shoots at him, missing barely for a few inches and wasting more ammunition than he surely has. McCree shoots back, the thunder-like voice of Peacekeeper roaring angrily in comparison with the childish shots of the enemy’s fire weapon.

The shot smashes the corner of a dumpster and makes the thug leave his cover to find another. McCree aims, carefully, the raindrops running down his forehead and face but he doesn’t care; he fixes his eyes on him and shoots a precise and certain projectile that hits his right leg, making him fall to the ground. McCree makes a pleasing, satisfied noise that could pass as a grunt and clicks his tongue triumphantly. He ambles down the street to collect his reward.

“Don't move,” he yells, pointing Peacekeeper right into his fallen attacker.

When McCree is close enough, he has no time to get to cover when the thug turns on his back and empties his magazine on him. The man screams something McCree can’t identify. It isn’t Japanese, he’s speaking English. The cowboy curses and tries to get away from the poorly aimed shots directed at him, and, even if he knows they need him alive he has no choice.

Peacekeeper roars again for a brief millisecond and the silence invades the back alley once more, the only thing you can hear is the rain tapping on the dumpsters and the puddles on the ground. The thug is dead, a well-placed bullet between his eyes, the glock abandoned near the corpse and McCree’s revolver smokes in the night. Then he feels it, the pang of pain in his left arm, the burn so familiar because it’s not the first time he’s been shot, unfortunately, and won’t be the last.

McCree falls on his right knee and holsters Peacekeeper to inspect the wound. Mean one, he groans in pain while he holds his left arm with his right hand and feels the warmth of the blood. A bullet has gone through his left bicep and -he touches and grunts again- no bullet, a clean shot. Lucky, but it hurts.

He takes a lungful of the cold night air, soaked to the bones under the rain. McCree smiles when he remembers Hanzo this evening; how he smiled at him while he opened the box and then that mischievous smile in the car. _Hanzo_. McCree grunts and stands, realizing the blood is dripping down his hand and leaving red watercolour dots on the pavement. But he’s alive. He turns around to see Hanzo running under the rain and stopping in front of him breathless.

“What happened?” Hanzo says, panting. “I heard the gunshots.”

“Told ya’ to stay in the damn car,” McCree yells too harshly and meets Hanzo’s worrying eyes.

“You are injured, and bleeding,” Hanzo says, furrowing while he inspects him. “Can you walk?”

“Why can’t ya’ do what I say for once?” McCree barks and walks across the alley next to Hanzo. “Ya’ wanted to come, ya’ ignored me, ya’ put yourself in danger. Again.”

He is meaner than he wants; meaner than he should, but the lump in his throat is back now the danger has passed, and the situation is under control. He’s been shot, but he’s fine, Hanzo and Genji are fine. Still, he can’t read Hanzo’s eyes. McCree doesn’t understand why a gift, why now, why him. Why?

“You are the one who got shot,” Hanzo wryly says, with that proud chin tilted up, defiant, as though he has done nothing wrong or dangerous tonight.

“I’m tryin’ to do my damn job, hell,” McCree curses. “What if ya’ die or ya’ get shot instead?”

“Are you scared of losing your job?” Hanzo says curtly. A question or a statement, McCree isn’t sure.

 _I’_ _m scared_ _of losing you! Not my job_ , McCree wants to scream until his words echo in the streets, but he snorts and stops for a moment to pin Hanzo in the place with his gaze and then he keeps walking.

The car is close, both doors opened, the lights inside are on, waiting for them. The BMW is trashed and severely damaged a few meters ahead. They need to call the Shimada-gumi to pick up this mess before the police show up, though the neighbors know better than to meddle in yakuza’s business.

Losing his fucking job, that’s all Hanzo thinks he is to him after two years, after these past days. Why in the hell would Hanzo gift him such thing if he’s nothing more than a bodyguard? An asset? Why does he even care if he gets shot or not? Why did he smile like that? To him.

“Yer so damn self-centered, princess, that ya’ don't realize…” McCree mumbles and sighs. “Nevermind.”

McCree knows his place. This is pointless. Hanzo is not his sweetheart, nor his friend. He works for him and nothing else, and spending increasing time together these past days has blurred the lines too much. He realizes he can’t drive because of his arm and moves to the passenger door instead, meeting Hanzo’s eyes on its way. McCree pushes everything he feels or wants to say under the blanket, but Hanzo speaks again, standing between McCree and the car.

“You said it yourself, you are _just_ doing your job, that’s why you care,” Hanzo growls, angry, probably at the pet name. He really should stop calling him a princess.

“Why do I care? Ya’ wanna go there, sweetheart?” McCree threats.

Hanzo opens his lips to defy him, scowling at him ready to spit the meanest thing that will ever leave his mouth, under the fucking rain soaking them and blurring time and space.

McCree has had enough. He takes a step forward, his right hand moves firmly behind Hanzo’s neck and he feels his heart will jump out of his chest at any moment, the thumping reaching his ears, cheeks burning hot, but he has had enough.

He closes the distance and steals those lips he craves; McCree crashes his mouth into Hanzo’s with a grunt and he is not gentle, he is angry, hungry, demanding, eager, and when he realizes he huffs a gasp and kisses him properly. McCree feels those soft, velvety lips like a sweet dream and feasts on them. Hanzo is stiff, doesn’t move, doesn’t back off either.

It happens fast, kissing is like getting shot, you feel it when it's over when you are already wounded and bleeding and don’t even know how badly. McCree is severely wounded tonight, a shot in his arm and those black eyes looking right through him while he drags his lips over his mouth greedily. He steps back and swallows, fearful, cursing his impulsiveness.

“Does that answer yer damn question?” McCree quips. He’s never been friendly with silences.

The slap is also fast; it stings and turns his head to a side. Damn, he curses in his mind and cups his sore face, smearing blood all over it. He realizes he has probably stained Hanzo’s neck with his blood too. McCree doesn’t dare to look Hanzo in the eyes, and the Shimada gets in the car, ready to drive them out of there. McCree sighs and gets inside too, in case Hanzo ditches him there, you never know.

“I’m callin’ the team to clean up this mess,” McCree says and takes his phone out of his pocket. His left arm hurts, he is still bleeding and his head spins close to fainting, not sure if because of the blood loss or Hanzo -or both-. “And then I’ll call Genji too, he should head to your apartment if that’s okay.”

“Hm,” Hanzo answers and is already driving, focused, stern face, no sound comes out of his mouth but that faint grunt acknowledging he has heard him. The kiss is sinking into his brain and McCree is getting more, and more nervous about it. He has definitely fucked up tonight and Hanzo will never look at him the same that’s if he ever looks at him ever again. He is probably fired or will be in due time.

“Shit, I’m getting’ blood all over your car,” McCree realizes. “M’sorry.”

“I do not give a fuck about the car, McCree,” Hanzo says curtly.

 

McCree has lost a considerable amount of blood on his way to the apartment, enough to feel weakened and dehydrated. Hanzo helps him to the kitchen and leaves him sitting alone in the dark. The cowboy already misses the sound of his voice. Hanzo said nothing since they got in the car.

He unfastens the body holster carefully and places it on the table in front of him with a grunt, weariness settling in his heart.  McCree sighs, defeated and beaten because all he wants is to bury himself in a deep hole and disappear.

Mumbling and Japanese banter announce Genji’s arrival. He lifts his head and the white blinding light of the kitchen burns his eyes when the little sparrow comes in and turns them on without a warning.

“Jesse!” Genji says and goes to hug him awkwardly. “Are you okay?”

Genji’s scared, he can tell, and he chuckles at the demonstrations of love from the little one. If only Hanzo was more like him… he snorts. He likes Hanzo just the way he is.

“I’m fine, yer gonna get blood all over ya’,” McCree says. Genji sits next to him and helps him take off the jacket and the shirt, soaked in his blood, and McCree holds the whines stoically. But it hurts.

“Hanzo has called the doctor, and she’s on his way,” Genji winks. “She will patch you right up.”

“Oh not that swiss sawbones again,” McCree complains and grunts while Genji chuckles, but McCree falls silent when Hanzo comes into the room.

“You can’t say she’s not a cutie,” Genji teases. “I’m almost glad you got shot so I can see her again.”

“I am going to take a shower,” Hanzo says. “The doctor will be here in no time.”

“I got him, anija,” Genji says and smiles before he fills McCree’s ears again with his banter about the pretty blonde doctor he likes so much, but he isn’t listening to any of it.

Hanzo glances briefly at him but McCree knows he has fucked up when he turns around and doesn’t even frown at him, not a complain, not a harsh word. Nothingness. He should’ve never kissed him but his fingers go to his lips nonetheless and he caresses the now dried up thieves that stole a cursed kiss less than an hour ago. A kiss he will store in his heart as McCree’s dopey smile proves.

The doctor arrives quickly, as promised, and patches him up without questioning the wound, saying how lucky McCree is that the bullet has gone right through him, that he will need a few stitches, and a new scar will paint his skin, but that he will be up and running in no time. McCree listens to all of it but his mind is somewhere else, drown in black eyes and onyx hair and the bastards trying to hurt the closest thing he has to a family.

Someone is targeting the younger Shimadas and that can only mean they will go after bigger fish, meaning Sojiro. Two frustrated attempts so far, they’d been lucky too. As soon as he is on his feet again they have to meet with the Shimada-gumi and sort this out. Nothing tallies up with a yakuza grudge.

He takes a shower, puts back a clean bandage on his left arm and takes two painkillers. His bed doesn’t sit right, so he doesn’t even try to sleep there and heads to the living room. McCree is not feeling as brave as earlier, suddenly he is feeling down. Maybe it’s the drugs or maybe it’s the lingering pressure at the back of his head telling him that he has fucked up.

A loud groan leaves his lungs when he slumps on the couch and closes his eyes. Genji is probably sleeping with Hanzo tonight, and he hasn’t seen him since the doctor left. McCree opens his eyes again and finds the bottle of bourbon still on the coffee table near two abandoned glasses. He pours a drink for himself. It will help him sleep and, damn, at least he can enjoy his gift, even though now it will remind him forever of that fateful kiss. He has the most terrible and wonderful ideas sometimes, like stealing a kiss from a yakuza. Such sweet lips...

McCree sips and hums at the bittersweet taste of bourbon on his lips when he sees Hanzo appear at the doorstep. He freezes and almost chokes on his drink. There it is, he’s patched up and most definitely fired. Hanzo walks towards him. He is wearing those damn grey sweatpants and no shirt, great, McCree thinks, that will surely detriment his span of attention.

Hanzo sits beside him, and McCree ogles shamelessly -nothing to lose anymore- that naked torso and that blue dragon he will never touch, or kiss, or lick how it deserves. Hanzo steals the glass from his hand, of course, he doesn’t ask, doesn’t need to. McCree may damn well end the bottle because he will never taste that luxury ever again.

“Howdy,” McCree says. Hanzo says nothing but the corner of his lip twitches upwards. That’s promising. “M’sorry ‘bout being an asshole ‘bout the gift. Thank ya’.”

“You are welcome,” Hanzo says and smirks. It seems Hanzo won’t make things easy for him, but then again, when has Shimada Hanzo done something the easy way.

“Ya’ can ignore what I did earlier…” McCree mumbles and swallows the lump in his throat. “It was a stupid thing to do, I won’t mention it again, ya’ don't have to mention it either.”

This is hard, his voice is cracking in front of Hanzo and he is awfully aware of the blush on his cheeks and well, being rejected isn’t pretty but it has to be done.

“Ya’ can fire me, m’sorry for your trouble, I just…”

“Shut up,” Hanzo says.

“Really, it’s not a big deal. It was the adrenaline and the blood loss, I was even dizzy not thinking straight…”

“Jesse,” Hanzo says. “Shut up.”

McCree frowns at the use of his first name. It has happened a couple of times in the past, drunken nights, slips of the tongue. Hanzo gulps down the whole drink and sighs at the burn in his throat.

“That’s why we can’t have nice things,” McCree says and rolls his eyes.

Hanzo smirks again and scoops closer on the couch, his hand, deft fingers, caress his neck and a thumb runs over his jaw while those black eyes scrutinize his soul. McCree swallows and parts his lips but doesn’t dare to move or breathe. If Hanzo is going to kill him now, he will die a happy man.

“Because I wanted to,” Hanzo whispers and leans closer. His breath, tinted with the alcohol reaches his nostrils and McCree gasps. “Because I like you despite you are the most annoying human being I have ever met.”

McCree swallows the dryness of his throat. He is dreaming. The pills and the alcohol mixed together are messing with his head because this is not happening. Hanzo leans forward and kisses him gently, lovingly. He brushes his lips, tickles him with the goatee, and then lets his tongue out to outline McCree’s swollen lips with it, wetting them. And McCree, nonplussed,  yields to the kiss, opens his mouth and receives obediently that heavenly, mean tongue, he wants to bite and tastes like victory. McCree melts in the kiss, takes what Hanzo offers, storing it in his heart. If this is just a dream, he doesn’t want to wake up or he will be heartbroken.

Hanzo kisses him as though he is savoring something precious when it’s just him, a bodyguard, an asset, nothing. It is over too soon, but not abruptly because Hanzo spares small kisses on the corner of his mouth and nibbles at the bottom lip before pulling away, leaving McCree as a sore mess unable to articulate a word. Not even when Hanzo stands. But he is quick enough to take his hand even with his wounded arm despite the surge of pain. Warm hands, soft hands, Hanzo’s.

“Ya’ can’t do that and leave me here,” McCree whispers. “No slap?” Hanzo glances at him from above and smiles. That smile, so beautiful, so true, an eclipse McCree intends to see every day from now on. “Yer the most exquisite thing I’ve tasted tonight, darlin’,” McCree teases, flirts, lightheaded and overwhelmed.

Hanzo leans forward and pushes him back to the couch with a firm hand on his chest, then he kisses him again and McCree moans, kisses back, asks for more. Hanzo is the most bedazzling creature he has had the pleasure to kiss, and he will never have enough of those velvety lips, not even in a lifetime. It hurts when Hanzo moves out of his reach and he fumbles in the air, looking for his mouth, hankering more.

“Do not tempt your luck, cowboy,” Hanzo whispers. “Rest.”

McCree watches him leave, already dozing and in need of a well-deserved shut eye. He lies there on the couch, in a cloud of bewilderment his future self will have to unravel and with the sweetest taste lingering on his lips. _Hanzo_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter is NSFW (｡•̀ᴗ-)✧ (Just a heads-up)


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NSFW Chapter with a lot of teasing (⁄ ⁄•⁄ω⁄•⁄ ⁄)⁄

Hanzo wakes up sweating because Genji has been glued to his back all night. He gets away from his grip careful not to wake him up and strokes that greenish hair. The peaceful expression on his brother’s face is a blessing after last night and Hanzo sighs in relief.

A quick visit to the bathroom and a splash of cold water on his face washes away the slumber. It’s still very early in the morning. Then he remembers Jesse last night and an unavoidable smile conquers his face. The kiss, the bullet, that impossibly annoying cowboy kissing him under the rain as though he is entitled to. And how much he enjoyed being kissed like that, claimed by him.

Hanzo walks into the living room and finds McCree snoring on the couch, facing the back. The bandage looks clean; the doctor did as she promised. Then he realizes he has to figure this mess out before things get complicated. A kiss can mean many things and Hanzo has no idea what’s in the cowboy’s mind. He lets him sleep, for now, McCree needs it. Hanzo goes to the kitchen to grab a bottle of water for when he wakes up. Then it hits him.

A shudder runs through his spine and Hanzo stands stock still on the cold kitchen floor. His father won’t approve this, whatever this is. He groans, it is too early to consider where they stand. _They_. He and McCree. His bodyguard. These past two years there have been moments when Hanzo has sensed more than just a professional relationship between them. Even with Genji, McCree acts as though he is a friend, part of the family, and Sojiro has blessed that behavior time and time again. But this is different.

McCree’s hard to read, puzzles -and annoys- Hanzo more than he wants to admit, but he is loyal and truthful, and Hanzo suspects his loyalty stands more with him and Genji than the Shimada-gumi itself. In the end, they are the closest thing to a family McCree has which also complicate things. Hanzo walks back to the living room gloomier as time passes and his head betrays him with thoughts of why this is a terrible idea.

Perhaps it is best if they walk away now, it was just a kiss. Two kisses. Hanzo huffs exasperated. Two amazing kisses that sped up his heart and ragged his breath. One that woke him up suddenly and warmed his heart at the same time that irritated every fiber of his being -hence the slap-, another one that made him melt into someone like he had never done before. McCree kissed him back, wanting more and making him feel loved and cared for. His fingers go to his smiling lips and Hanzo snorts. Stupid cowboy.

Hanzo finds McCree awake, sitting on the couch and stretching carefully not to disturb his left arm. He grants him the dopiest and sweetest smile of all, which makes Hanzo want to roll his eyes but pins him in place instead. Why does he have to be like this? That’s what he’s been asking himself these past days they’d been living together. Why does he whistle while he cooks? Why does he look so cute trying to watch the news in Japanese with that face of concentration? Why does he insist on eating sushi with his hands and licking his fingers loudly after every piece?

Everything is so _him_ Hanzo feels defenseless, he wants to scowl at him, hiss, and, at the same time, he wants that mess to keep doing exactly what he does. With him.

“Mornin’,” McCree says and the faint blush on his cheeks is so adorable Hanzo has to suppress a smile. Hanzo closes the distance between them and hands him the bottle. The cowboy hurries to drink avidly from it while Hanzo watches the naughty drops falling and soaking his white shirt.

That disheveled brown hair, not a lock in place, the scratchy beard he felt last night on his mouth and fingers, and that sleepy expression on his face he will carry with him until very late in the morning. Annoyingly perfect. Hanzo sits next to him, a foot on the couch, trying to seem more relaxed than he really is. Masking everything now with his characteristic rudeness could give McCree the wrong idea.

“Am I fired?” McCree asks with a smug smile and Hanzo snorts.

“Trying to get another kiss?” Hanzo says and arches an eyebrow at him, but McCree chuckles shyly and rubs his eyes. “How are you?”

“Surprisingly good,” McCree says and moves his left shoulder, testing the level of pain. “Hurts a little, that Dr. Ziegler knows what she’s doing.” Hanzo leans closer, his naked chest touching McCree’s right arm while he strokes carefully the left one. It isn’t swollen, it has stopped bleeding, and he sighs in relief.

Hanzo finds McCree’s eyes on him again, he always liked to show off and walk around without a top to fluster him, but now he is trembling under those whiskey-colored eyes that roam freely and shamelessly over his skin.

“You are staring,” Hanzo says with a smirk and pushes McCree’s face to a side to free himself from that thirsty glance that has him rattled.

“It’s yer fault, sweetheart,” McCree says and turns to look at him again. “So damn pretty.”

McCree leans forward, looking for his mouth, and Hanzo’s heart speeds up. Something he can barely hear inside his head is telling him this is a bad idea, and yet he closes his eyes and meets the cowboy’s lips eagerly. Isn’t that why he has gotten out of bed? Another kiss, a sweet morning kiss because he has missed the cowboy even in his sleep? Yes.

Hanzo ignores that little voice and moans when McCree’s tongue assails his mouth impatiently. He wants to take the lead and be the one who rocks his world but Hanzo can’t. Jesse’s hand is at the back of his neck, just like last night, and the other -he is definitely feeling better- is at his waist, not a soft touch but a gentle squeeze of flesh while playful fingertips inspect his skin.

And they kiss madly, oblivious of time, forgetting about the complications because they melt into each other until there’s nothing more than swollen, red, lips glistening with saliva and two breathless messes committed to a sloppy kiss all bite and tongue. Until Hanzo pulls away to take a sharp intake of air and McCree chuckles, amused at this new side of him yet to discover.

“Oh darlin’, I could do this all day…” McCree says, drags the words in a way he has never spoken to him before. Those words talk about hope and wish, want and lust, something lewd tingling at the back of his mouth. Something Hanzo can’t wait to find out. There is no going back now; to hell with the thinking, considering rights or wrongs, that doesn’t matter when those lips speak wonders into his mouth.

Hanzo straddles him on the couch to close the distance between them, eager like the dragon he is, taking his mouth again forcefully. His hands trail a sensuous path over his chest and up his shoulders and neck, where they hold for a moment, doubtful, until Hanzo threads his fingers within his hair and tugs at it mercilessly, tilting his head back. Hanzo eats, devours, and bites what is rightfully his, marking McCree’s neck. He owns him, in more ways the cowboy will ever realize but doesn’t seem to mind because he moans and whines in his mouth, and Hanzo smirks victoriously at those bite marks on his neck.

“Yer killin’ me, sweetheart,” McCree gasps and Hanzo settles in his lap and rocks his hips with malign intentions. His teeth nibble at his neck and he grinds his ass against that hard bulge on McCree’s groin until he is desperately trying to buck his hips up and grunts when Hanzo doesn’t allow him. “So mean…” McCree murmurs.

Hanzo slows down the hot rush between them with gentle kisses, his fingers stroke his scalp, fondling the thickness of McCree’s hair. The lascivious movement of his hips stops and he glances down to the tent in McCree’s sweatpants, satisfied with the fruit of his efforts. Though he is in no better condition, his hard length defying shamelessly the taut of his own pants.

“What do we have here?” Hanzo says and drums his fingers playfully over McCree’s erection.

“Yer fault, princess,” McCree says and kneads his thighs greedily, daring to go up to his ass only to go back to the safety of those hard muscles that fill Hanzo’s legs. But when he sees Hanzo’s smirk he gropes for it again contentedly. Hanzo wants to scowl at him for the pet name, but there’s something in how he has said it that curls up his stomach nice and warm.

“Can I?” McCree licks his lips and glances at him with puppy eyes.

Hanzo nods with a smug smile spread on his lips and moans in surprise when McCree claws his fingers on his ass, pulling him against his chest while his mouth, open and starving, closes around his left nipple. Hanzo straightens up, arches his spine and mumbles a curse. That warm, wet, tongue his lapping a perked nipple so lewdly even the noises coming out of McCree’s mouth make him blush.

“Fuck, Jesse,” Hanzo whines, blushing deeply at how easy the cowboy has found a soft spot.

The cowboy chuckles while his hands travel up his torso firmly until they cup Hanzo’s puffy chest, squeezing at it. The Shimada bites harshly his bottom lip to muffle the moans. Both thumbs circle his hard nipples while McCree rests his chin on his sternum and glances up at him. Hanzo’s cheeks turn a new shade of red at that.

“Look at ya’,” McCree says while his hands massage him. “So pretty and tasty.” The words haven’t even left his mouth when he drags his lips against his tattoo, biting, licking and sucking at his skin until Hanzo finds himself gripping the cowboy’s wrists to hold himself.

“You are impossible,” Hanzo whispers while McCree sucks at his nipple. “I should have imagined you’d be a tease.”

“But ya’ like it,” McCree mumbles against his skin. “Otherwise ya’ would’ve slapped me by now.”

“That is… accurate,” Hanzo says. McCree lowers his hands following a lascivious path until he reaches his ass again while he spares kisses along his jaw and neck.

Hanzo presses a hand on McCree’s chest and pushes him back on the couch, he is flustered and, albeit he is surprisingly enjoying the cowboy’s teasing, he wants his fair share. His hand slides inside McCree’s sweatpants to find what makes that bulge so big and hard. And finds it.

“Holy hell, Jesse,” Hanzo mumbles and his eyes open wide, firstly because the cowboy isn’t wearing any underwear -neither is he- and secondly because that hard, throbbing cock is a lot thicker than he has anticipated. McCree’s answer is a wolfish grin that bristles every nerve in his being at how cocky he is sometimes.

A smile Hanzo pretty much intents to erase and replace with more pleasurable expressions. He looks down, deft fingers hook the waistband, and he frees McCree’s gorgeous length in the air. Hanzo stares at it unabashedly, relishes in how it curves beautifully to rest near his navel, how clear drops glisten on the tip at how aroused McCree is. He wraps his hand around it -rock hard- and squeezes, humming his approval. Hanzo strokes a vein on the left side with his thumb and feels the twitch in his hand. There is no trace of that smile anymore in Jesse’s face because he is looking at him with parted lips and hooded lids hiding eyes glittering with lust.

“Tell me I ain’t dreamin’, sweetheart,” McCree whispers and Hanzo kisses his lips briefly while he envelopes him and moves his hand in long lazy strokes meant to tease.

“What do you like?”

“I like ya’,” McCree says. “I like this.”

Hanzo smiles, but he wants more. He wants to know how to drive him crazy, how to make him writhe and scream under his hands, his mouth, his ass. He wants it all, and he has never had the patience to find out slowly. Hanzo wants it now even if he has to coax from McCree every little dirty secret, fantasy or dream he has about him. Because with that man Hanzo yearns to please.

“What else?”

His thumb is running up and down his length, pressing hard on the shaft, soft on the tip, smearing and soaking his fingertip with the wonders leaking from it. Hanzo never wants to know what his lovers like, he wants them to please him, he wants them for an hour or a night but doesn’t want to know because he doesn’t care. Jesse? He wants to _own_ Jesse, _break_ Jesse, _please_ Jesse. All of those in any order.

“I can’t think straight, darlin’,” McCree gasps adorably.

“I am trying to find out what you want… from me,” Hanzo says and lands a harsh bite on the crook of his neck, stealing a delightful wail from McCree’s lips.

“I’m into that,” McCree says and winks. He tries to be cocky, but he is pursuing Hanzo’s hand with the jerking of his hips while Hanzo tortures him with the slowest hand job of his life.

“More,” Hanzo says and circles his thumb around the head. “Tell me what comes to your mind when you are alone in your bed.”

“Damn,” McCree curses, his hands are clammy over his ass and Hanzo witnesses his resolve crumbling. “Ya’, darlin’, only ya’,” he gasps.

“Jesse…” Hanzo whispers into his mouth and squeezes his hard cock into his hand. “Tell me.”

There’s a silence between them. McCree’s pondering if he can say what Hanzo is asking or if he is just teasing, but Hanzo smiles at him, he wants to know, wants Jesse to tell him and confess his most unspeakable fantasies. It is at this precise moment when Hanzo realizes how long McCree’s been pining for him; how long he’s been dreaming for this and it stirs something inside his heart.

“I want ya’ asking for it,” McCree says and blushes, a deep red on his cheeks and a twitch on his cock that hasn’t gone unnoticed by Hanzo. He smirks.

“Asking for what?” Hanzo teases, though he already knows. He wants McCree to say it out loud, wants to hear those words come out his mouth willingly.

“For me,” McCree whispers. “For my cock, damn, Hanzo.”

“Really, cowboy?” Hanzo teases. “You cannot possibly be into that, you shameless.” The hand never stops, he’s squeezing the truth out from the sore mess below him as he is squeezing those clear beads of precum from his cock. And he hasn’t even started.

“Ya’ have no idea how much ya’ turn me on when ya’ ask for things nicely,” McCree says and licks his lips while his hands knead Hanzo’s ass.

“Have you ever heard me say those things by chance?” Hanzo snorts.

“In my mind? Every damn night, darlin’,” McCree says and reaches for his mouth, but Hanzo doesn’t let him, pushes him back with his free hand while the other moves from hilt to tip, damp from the precum, smooth and heavenly warm against his aching cock.

“If you tame me,” Hanzo whispers and leans so close his lips brush McCree’s at every word. “I will beg.” He lets his tongue out and licks his swollen lips while a groan escapes the cowboy’s mouth. “You better make me want to beg.”

McCree groans and curses, taking Hanzo’s mouth between his lips while he tries to buck his hips up to speed up that hand torturing him because he feels his orgasm building up inside his loins but every time he wants to yield to it Hanzo stops, and he has the feeling it’s not nearly the end.

“What else do you want, Jesse?” Hanzo breaks the kiss and asks again.

“I…” McCree swallows and Hanzo narrows his eyes at how at his mercy the cowboy is. He got him singing too easily. “I want ya’ wearing lingerie,” McCree confesses. Hanzo says nothing but his hand twists on his cock and another spur of precum mixes between his fingers. “See-through, black lace, pretty underwear, ribbons, I want… damn ya’, Hanzo.” McCree curses again and blushes, covering his face with his good arm but Hanzo can perfectly see that wolfish grin seeping through.

“I see you’ve given that a thought or two,” Hanzo says and chuckles. “That is _not_ going to happen.” Jesse chuckles too and removes the arm to look at him.

“Worth a try, sweetheart,” McCree shrugs. “But thinkin’ of ya’ wrapped in lace has startled my nights often. Just bein’ honest here.”

Then McCree’s smile widens, and he straightens on the couch, his right hand cups Hanzo’s face while the other joins at his cock and tries to speed that unhurried hand. Hanzo’s sly smile is still there at how on edge he has McCree only with dirty talking. He knew that’d be right his cup of tea at what a big mouth he is.

“I also want ya’ on your knees,” McCree whispers into his mouth. He sounds needy, starving and something stirs inside Hanzo at those gentle eyes. He puts a finger to his lips in a futile attempt to prevent any more words coming out of his mouth.

“Would you let me blow you, Jesse?” Hanzo purrs. “ _Please_ ?” He croons and McCree falls back on the couch and tilts his head, his cock jerks in his hand and Hanzo smiles, wants to laugh at the curses leaving McCree’s mouth. A _please_ has never tasted better in his mouth.

“Yes, damn, Hanzo, yes,” McCree says and stumbles into his own words adorably.

Hanzo lets go of him and crawls down McCree’s lap until he is between his legs right in front of him, on his knees. He relishes in the lovestruck glance in McCree’s eyes who, apparently, doesn’t want to miss anything and doesn’t even blink.

McCree’s cock looks wonderful and beautiful up close, though Hanzo is aware the size is not something he has faced before and damn if he isn’t thrilled about it, not intimidated by any chance.

“Ya’ think it will fit?” McCree teases and Hanzo scowls at him before he lets his tongue out and licks the whole length in one swipe. The cowboy squirms.

He tastes even better, salty, his. Hanzo hums and takes the tip on his mouth a bit too eagerly, glancing up at McCree who groans and spreads his legs further apart to accommodate Hanzo better. His girth fits heavenly in his mouth and Hanzo revels in the fullness while he sucks and laps that leaking slit demandingly.

“Honey, m’sorry but,” McCree gasps. “I’ma gonna come so damn fast…”

Hanzo wants to smirk, instead, he lets a throaty chuckle out to tease McCree while he bobs his head and tries to push his length inside a little deeper every time. The noises coming out of the cowboy encourage him, and when McCree tangles a hand in his loose hair to keep it out of the way he moans with a mouth full of him. Sweet cowboy.

His hips thrust the air, looking for a relief he won’t get, while he kneels on his expensive carpet, reclined on McCree’s lap. Hanzo won’t stop; not until Jesse is sated and screaming his name into the room. Hanzo wants to eat him whole until his nose is buried in the fuzz gathering at the hilt; until he can’t breathe and his throat aches.

“Yer doing so damn well, Hanzo,” McCree says and Hanzo melts in the praise. “Don't stop.”

Hanzo has never been the one to fall for praises or sweet nothings but when they leave McCree’s mouth all he wants is to please him, despite the surge of pride at the back of his head trying to resist the irresistible cowboy. He takes him out to gasp for air, his hands clawing his fingers on McCree’s thighs when he attacks again and engulfs him whole, inch by inch.

“Hanzo, please,” McCree moans and tugs at his hair.

His tongue brushes the base of his cock while he drags him in and out, and soon he takes him all the way while his hands move up to his stomach to feel McCree’s muscles flexing underneath. Hanzo gags but he is stubborn, and he keeps going, wanting nothing more than those moans and whines filling his ears and that throbbing cock filling his mouth.

“I’m gonna come, Hanzo,” McCree warns but tilts his hips uncontrollably, trying to fuck Hanzo’s mouth, and if they weren’t in this position Hanzo would gladly let him. He would allow McCree to tug at his hair and fuck his face whoever he wanted.

Hanzo moans at the burn at the back of his throat and that impossibly thick cock buried in his mouth while he breathes through his nose and finally the fuzz of McCree tickles him. And he sucks hard, doesn’t mind the lack of air or the drool down his chin because a loud groan that sounds like his name echoes in the room while that cock twitches in his mouth. The warm come sliding down his throat makes him gag, but Hanzo swallows and doesn’t pull back, he takes what McCree has to offer and drinks his reward tenaciously.

McCree’s moans are now soft whines, and pants while Hanzo keeps sucking, milking him dry and feeling how that hard cock softens inside his mouth. That won’t make him stop, only when McCree chuckles, his body slack on the couch and watery eyes peeking through hooded lids glancing at him intently; only then he takes him out, licking lasciviously his swollen lips, glistening with spit. Not a single drop of McCree’s load is wasted.

“Yer a dream come true, Hanzo…” McCree whispers and cups Hanzo’s face with the hand that previously held his hair, wiping with his thumb that glistening chin. “C’mere, let me take care of ya’.”

Hanzo straddles McCree again and takes his neglected cock out moving the waistband of his pants out of the way. The cowboy stares at it and bites his bottom lip because Hanzo has the most gorgeous cock he has ever seen. Round, pink swollen head leaking just for him. Then Hanzo takes himself in his hand and moans loudly at the warmth wrapping him.

“Yer so damn pretty,” McCree says.

“Fuck, Jesse,” Hanzo curses and strokes himself urgently, his hips bucking into his hand while he holds with white-knuckle force McCree’s shoulder.

“You are, look at ya’, all blushed and pretty,” McCree purrs. “Even your cock is pretty, darlin’,” McCree says while he follows Hanzo’s rocking with a well-placed hand inside his sweatpants, groping his butt cheek.

“You never shut up,” Hanzo gasps but doesn’t stop.

“Ya’ should’ve put your cock in my mouth for that, sweetheart,” McCree quips and winks, making Hanzo roll his eyes even flustered as he is. McCree smiles sweetly and rolls his shirt up. Then Hanzo knows what he wants, well, what he was going to do nonetheless without asking because Shimada Hanzo doesn’t need to ask.

“Make a mess of me, darlin’,” McCree says and Hanzo moans. A pause where McCree wants to say more but hesitates. “Your mess.”

Hanzo presses his forehead into McCree’s, drinks his sweet nothings, those loving words that go right into his groin. He comes hard, he grunts and moans, fucks his hand and claws his fingers on McCree’s shoulder leaving crescent moon indents. All while the cowboy guides him with that heady voice.

“Just like that, my dear,” McCree whispers while Hanzo paints his stomach with pearlescent ropes of his spent that drip down his navel and get mixed with the fuzz on his body. Hanzo keeps moving his hand until the lasts drops fall on McCree’s softened cock and he smiles, sated before the cowboy traps his lips and grants him with a wet, languid kiss that steals his breath away, as though he could spare some.

“So much talking, cowboy,” Hanzo says, breathless.

“Admit ya’ liked it,” McCree teases.

“That I did,” Hanzo says and kisses those lips to prevent any more words coming out at least for as long as the kiss lasts. But then he glances down at the mess between them, and Hanzo smears his come over McCree’s stomach while he fixes his eyes on him. Those black eyes McCree loves to bits even if he cannot say it. The cowboy smirks and clicks his tongue.

“A man after my own filthy heart,” McCree chuckles and Hanzo joins him.

“So you do not forget that I own you,” Hanzo says with a smug smile. “You better get well soon.”

“Look at ya’ so concerned ‘bout me,” McCree teases.

Hanzo cleans his hand on Jesse’s shirt and presses his lips into his mouth, a big mouth that smiles and opens up for him, waiting for his tongue, his teasing, the taste of something new and wanted they can revel in every day now.

“What the fuck are you guys doing?” Genji says from the doorstep and snorts. “Seriously?”

McCree hurries to hide his naughty bits inside his sweatpants and does the same for Hanzo who hides his face under a hand, truly embarrassed, mumbling something Jesse doesn’t quite catch.

“You never get up this early, Genji,” Hanzo complains, trying to mask how red are his cheeks and how that scarlet telltale is creeping down his neck albeit he is straddling Jesse on the couch and the hands of the cowboy have safely returned to his ass. McCree is enjoying this, he can tell because a smirk paints his lips and he says _howdy_ to Genji as though his shirt isn’t covered in Hanzo’s cum.

“I was thirsty! Well, not _that_ kind of thirsty,” Genji laughs at his own pun and points at them while walking toward the kitchen. “You two have been pinning for each other so long, especially you, Jesse.”

“I’ma gonna kick ya’ where the sun  _don't_ shine, ya’ little shit,” McCree jokes and Genji bursts into laughter when he has a better view of the scene.

“I sure did interrupt something,” Genji says and dodges the cushion that Hanzo throws at him.

“Anija! I’m so happy for you,” he teases again and disappears into the kitchen even if he and McCree can still hear his endless snickering. “Not so much for you, Jesse…”

“Genji is going to be a nightmare,” Hanzo says and sighs.

“When ain’t he?” McCree chuckles.

“I need a shower,” Hanzo says, attempting to leave McCree’s arms but those strong hands push him down.

“Can I join ya’?” McCree says and pouts. “I mean, I’ma gonna need precious help to wash my hair. My arm,” he feigns a grunt of pain and rolls his left shoulder. “I really can’t move it.”

Hanzo rolls his eyes, equally annoyed and excited at the prospect of a shared shower, and it’s not awkward or strange as Hanzo thought in the beginning, while they both fit in the enclosed space and those filthy hands explore his body relentlessly.  But it’s refreshing, oddly familiar, when McCree soaps his whole body and endless praises leave his mouth at how beautiful he is and how long he has wanted this; and exciting, especially when said cowboy pins him to the wall of the shower and steals another from him; shameless, lustful, cowboy who makes his head spin and his heart throb.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you liked it! Now is when I run and hide omg ε=ε=ε=ε=ε” “(/*’-‘*)/  
> Next Chapter is also NSFW (⁄ ⁄•⁄ω⁄•⁄ ⁄)⁄ if you're still sticking around <333


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I added a couple of tags regarding this chapter, feel free to check them if you want <3  
> I hope you like it! (⁄ ⁄•⁄ω⁄•⁄ ⁄)⁄ NSFW!!

Hanzo fears his father sees right through him the moment they are in the same room. Those ruthless black eyes scrutinizing his soul and finding out how he has spent the morning in his bodyguard’s arms. Hanzo shudders even if his father has no say in his love life, but then he smirks at the memories, quickly reprimanding himself for it. If Sojiro finds out, so be it.

“Erase that grin from your face, McCree,” Hanzo says curtly.

“What can I say darlin’, I’m as happy as a puppy with two peckers,” McCree says and chuckles.

The elevator reaches their floor and Hanzo nudges McCree before stepping out, though, while walking down the long hall to Sojiro’s office, they both remember why they are there. McCree still suffers a faint pain on his left arm from last night’s events and thanks inwardly to the doctor at how well he is recovering giving the circumstances.

McCree has had little time to think about who’s targeting the Shimadas, but one thing bothers him: if any of the other yakuza families were implicated, they’d already know which one. He loses his smile right before they open the door to the office, and he admires Hanzo’s stern façade in front of Sojiro while they speak. McCree worries that his mind is somewhere else at the worst time possible when the closest thing to a family he has was threatened twice in the past few days.

“How is your arm?” Sojiro asks and McCree stiffens, suddenly aware of those scrutinizing eyes on him.

“Hearty as a buck,” McCree says and Sojiro nods, pleased with the answer.

“How did the meeting with the Elders go?” Hanzo asks, not mincing his words, and sits on the leather couch.

“Satisfactory for us,” Sojiro smirks, invites McCree to sit with a gesture of his hand and sits next to his son. “Though tomorrow night after the boxing fight we have to meet with the leaders of the other families and I will require your presence there.”

“Very well,” Hanzo says and nods. He considers a nuisance having to deal with lesser yakuza families when the Shimada-gumi controls and handles most weapon deals and businesses in Hanamura; but his father believes being in good terms with them secures their position, especially in cases like this when it’s not clear where the menace comes from.

“Is it safe a meetin’ of this caliber now?” McCree has worked for the Shimada-gumi long enough to know their enemies can come from the outside as well as the inside. Not to mention he’d rather keep Hanzo safe with him -in bed- and not taking unnecessary risks.

“We do not have a choice,” Sojiro says.

“What about Genji?” Hanzo asks, knowing, as much as his little brother distracts himself for the family business often, he cares, and he will want to come blade in hand.

“I’ll deal with your brother,” Sojiro says. “Any thoughts?” He asks McCree because his face of concern isn’t a secret to anyone in the room.

“They weren’t trying to kill Genji last night,” McCree says. “They were trying to kidnap him, following him to learn his ways and snatch him given the opportunity.”

“I figured that might be the case,” Sojiro says, surprisingly calm.

Hanzo frowns and glances at McCree; he has always admired how well he works but now a hint of pride burst inside him when he talks with Sojiro. And his father, a man who doesn’t take for granted many people’s opinions, is asking for his advice.

“I don't know what they want but they’re sending a message to ya’ sir,” McCree explains. “An’ they really wanna hurt the Shimada-gumi, though I can’t figure out why. I’m missing somethin’ here, the guys from last night weren’t Japanese.”

Hanzo hums and gets McCree’s attention, but then his father sighs in frustration, reaching for his phone and typing something quickly before lifting his eyes and meeting Hanzo’s puzzled gaze. He knows something neither McCree nor he does.

“There was a thwarted deal involving a reputed criminal organization.”

“How come?” Hanzo asks. “And why do you know about it?” What Hanzo really wants to ask is why am I finding this out now, I am your son, your heir, and you kept this from me. But he doesn’t and swallows his wounded pride as best as he can. McCree is frowning too, a serious expression you don’t get to see often.

“Talon tried to recruit me and I turned down their offer,” Sojiro says and clears his throat. “Several times, in fact, and I refused… not politely, one could say. I also banned their presence in Hanamura.”

“Father!” Hanzo glares at him because he should have been informed of this immediately.

“It had to be done,” Sojiro says. “Tomorrow’s meeting is decisive. The Elders agree with my decision regarding Talon, I just have to break the news to our associates.”

“We do not want Talon’s claws in Hanamura,” Hanzo says and notices McCree shifting in his seat. “Are you confident we have the other families support?”

“They better, I do not find Talon to my liking, their aims do not coincide with my own,” Sojiro says. “Friends of Talon are our enemies.” Hanzo nods his agreement.

“So ya’ knew it was them from the beginning?” McCree interrupts and then bites his tongue.

“We confirmed his involvement after we analyzed the debris from last night. We found evidence pointing to Talon in the car and the men were, indeed, not Japanese but Talon mercenaries.”

“But you knew,” Hanzo states and glances briefly at McCree.

“I had my suspicions,” Sojiro says with a sly smile. “Talon needs power and control and wants the Shimada-gumi to join them to get a shortcut in Hanamura using our connections.”

“We will not let that happen,” Hanzo says. “Do they have a base of operations here in Hanamura?

“No, otherwise we would know about it.”

“Talon could risk a bold move,” Hanzo says. “They clearly have men in the city and we lack critical information.” McCree meets his gaze and shares Hanzo’s worries.

“We will see tomorrow,” Sojiro says and smiles. “You do not play with the Shimada-gumi and get away with it. If they want war, they will find it.”

Sojiro says what he wants to say and keeps to himself a little too much, Hanzo believes, but he will not be the one to judge his father’s decisions. Talon has its claws already in Numbani and Monaco, and the Shimada-gumi will do everything in their power to expel them from Hanamura.

McCree’s worried face unsettles Hanzo while the cowboy and his father discuss the family security for tomorrow night. He takes out his phone and types a quick message to Genji. As much as he would love to keep his brother safe and away from this, the Shimadas must stick together to send a message. Genji will not disappoint.

On their way to the elevator they don’t speak, they don’t need to. Sojiro has played them for a couple of weeks, though, to be fair, knowing Talon was behind the attacks would have changed nothing. Hanzo is rummaging through his own thoughts when McCree gets in the elevator with him and winks, stealing a half-smile from him.

“Hey,” McCree clears his throat. “Wanna have dinner with me?”

“Sure,” Hanzo says distractedly.

“I mean a date,” McCree says and rubs the back of his neck. “I want a date, ya’ and me.” Those puppy eyes glance at him charmingly and Hanzo’s lip twitches upward in a half-smile.

“You said dates were a bad idea giving the circumstances,” Hanzo says and folds his arms over his chest.

“Dates with other guys, yeah,” McCree leans and whispers into his ear. “Bad, bad idea, sweetheart.”

Hanzo chuckles and invades McCree’s space, winding his arms tenderly around his neck while the cowboy blushes and checks how much time they have left until the elevator reaches their floor. Enough. Hanzo hasn’t been on a real date since forever; he isn’t even sure if he cares about dates or if they mean something to him, but pleasing the cowboy, that gets to him.

“After this morning, what makes you think I want to date you, Jesse?” Hanzo teases but doesn’t get the funny pun he is expecting because McCree meets his gaze with a serious expression that doesn’t suit him but sinks his heart.

“I don’t wanna be a one-time thing, darlin’, I wanna be a date,” McCree whispers and cups his face with a warm loving hand. “That’s what I want from ya’.”

Hanzo melts, something deep down his stomach clenches beautifully and he feels he is falling from a cliff and pins McCree to the back of the elevator to steady himself. Then something like a desperate gasp -he will deny has happened- leaves his mouth when he kisses the cowboy. He wants to mask what he feels, but he gets lost in those parted lips that taste so familiar it scares him deeply. He bites and sucks, and McCree moans in his mouth at that harsh and ungentle treatment he receives but loves so much.

McCree deepens the kiss with his own eagerness and Hanzo smiles when that hard bulge makes its presence at his thigh. He grinds into it to elicit that thrilling needy sound McCree makes when he wants him. Easy cowboy.

“Is that a yes?” McCree mumbles against his mouth and takes a much-needed gasp of air.

“I intend to fuck you too,” Hanzo says and smirks while his hand goes to palm McCree’s hard length over his trousers. He doesn’t stop there, he squeezes and moves his hand while he nibbles McCree’s neck.

“Now I have a boner, thanks, sweetheart,” McCree says, taking Hanzo’s chin between his knuckles and biting Hanzo’s lower lip, at the same time he bucks his hips desperately against that teasing hand.

“I will take care of that properly when we get home,” Hanzo whispers in his mouth. “Are you sure you want to go have dinner now?”

“Yer so mean,” McCree says and his hands go swiftly to Hanzo’s ass. He squeezes at it shamelessly while groans of frustration leave his mouth at his inner dilemma. Hanzo licking his neck, getting on his tiptoes to reach the lobe of his ear isn’t helping either. “Yes, date, damn.”

The elevator chimes announcing their floor and Hanzo takes his time, oblivious at the people gathering outside, to step away from McCree and walk out of there while the flustered cowboy repositions his crotch and follows.

“Date it is,” Hanzo croons, satisfied, and glances back to look at the cowboy.

“That’s what ya’ deserve, princess,” McCree says, and it surprises him when Hanzo doesn’t scowl at him for the pet name and, instead, he chuckles.

It isn’t like they haven’t done this a million times in the past, but feels different when McCree smiles the whole night and flirts openly about any stupid thing Hanzo says, even when he is being mean for the sake of it. The annoying cowboy doesn’t seem so annoying now, and his eyes and the tender words leaving his mouth promise things that wrap around Hanzo’s heart even if he doesn’t want to, or does he?

They go nowhere fancy, just a regular restaurant where they can be themselves for a couple of hours without worrying about nothing more than the smiles across the table and the shameless flirting.

They get home fast though, Hanzo’s teasing is already making a dent in McCree and he can barely keep his hands to himself on their way there. The cowboy is overwhelming, all bite and tongue, those hands hoarding for themselves everything at their reach, and all Hanzo can do is yield and mumble many grumbles he doesn’t mean. _Not in the car, stupid cowboy_ , but his hands don’t follow up with his words when he rubs that prominent hard bulge over the clothes.

Genji greets them with a sly smile when they both arrive at Hanzo’s apartment red and flustered, but before McCree can finish a _duty calls_ pun Hanzo is dragging him by his tie down the hall right into his bedroom. McCree loses the hat on their way there, leaving Genji snickering in the living room.

Doubts cloud his good intentions. What are they doing after all? But everything vanishes when he smiles or when McCree tucks his hair behind his ear. Has McCree been always this caring? Hanzo melts in his arms and curses himself for being weak, for falling for him like this, then he doesn’t care and moans again into the kiss.

“Jesse,” Hanzo mumbles against his mouth.

“What?” McCree whispers, holding him against the bedroom door and closing it to trap them both inside, alone, to do as they please.

“Tell me what you want,” Hanzo says.

“You, darlin’, I want ya’, allers,” McCree says, trapping again those swollen, pink lips into his own while his hands cup Hanzo’s ass greedily. “An’ I want this tonight.”

Hanzo’s smug smile disappears when McCree manhandles him and turns him around, pressing his muscled body against his back while his hands knead his ass. Hanzo moans when his warm breath seeps through his hair and brushes his neck. He is so demanding it clenches his stomach because no one has ever dared to be like this with him, always so careful not to offend him, always so pliant at what he says and yet the cowboy is entitled to take what he wants.

“Fuck, Jesse,” Hanzo gasps and swallows the dryness in his mouth.

His clammy hands rest on the door while McCree nuzzles at his neck and moves away his hair with his nose to kiss his nape. Those hands won’t dare to move up because they are traveling to the front and quickly unfastening his belt, prying open his fly and sneaking inside lasciviously. McCree chuckles, amused, and he licks and bites Hanzo’s neck lovingly while a hand nestles his balls and the other wraps itself around Hanzo’s hard length.

“May I?” McCree asks but doesn’t say what, Hanzo doesn’t care and only moans and nods, pushing his ass back to grind against the hard bulge pressing right there and pinning him in place.

Then McCree bites, harsh and wet, drooling and breathing against his skin while he clenches his teeth at the base of his neck. Hanzo whines, he doesn’t want to, tries to stop those needy noises but can’t. He’s lost this battle before it even started, then Hanzo remembers this morning when McCree said he was into love bites, yes, he is, and it hurts as much as it pleases him.

McCree uses his right hand to swoop down Hanzo’s trousers and boxers just enough to expose him while the other has him tightly wrapped but doesn’t move except for a teasing thumb measuring his length.

“Sweetheart, ya’ are so damn perfect,” McCree whispers right into his ear while his hand palms again a cold butt cheek.

Hanzo grasps McCree’s wrist and glances back to take a peek at a very flustered cowboy surely enjoying his doing. He takes his hand from his ass and moves it slowly at the front, up his chest and right into his throat while a groan leaves McCree’s mouth. Playing with him is still too easy, Hanzo thinks, but he opens his mouth and traps two fingers inside.

“Goddamnit, Hanzo,” McCree curses while that twirling tongue is lapping and circling his fingers lewdly. “Right when I thought I had ya’ under my mercy…”

Hanzo sucks and hums around his fingers, putting up a show for the cowboy, one that has him rutting shamelessly against his naked ass. He soaks them into his saliva while McCree explores his mouth and goes deep, so deep Hanzo almost gags but instead, he moans around them. He frees his wrist when he pleases and McCree fucks his mouth with his fingers, brushing them against his tongue, then forcing Hanzo’s mouth open pulling down his jaw and withdrawing his hand until only a trail of spit joins his bottom lip and those glistening fingers.

“Put them to a good use,” Hanzo says and then licks his sly smile. McCree lets go of his cock and grips tightly his butt cheek, spreading his ass while those soaked fingers tease along his rim and find deftly what they were aiming for.

Hanzo bites his bottom lip when those fingertips stroke him and a faint wail leaves his lips when McCree thrusts a finger inside. It is not nearly enough slick but Hanzo doesn’t care, loves the burn and pushes into it. The cowboy holds him with a hand on his stomach and buries his face in the crook of his neck lovingly. McCree whispers his name over and over and no matter how insistently Hanzo is bucking his hips back into his hand the intruding finger doesn’t move.

“Yer so tight, darlin’,” McCree gasps.

“You better start working or I’ll…” Hanzo says but when that finger moves in and out his ass he moans at the lingering pressure.

“Or what, princess?” McCree teases and traps Hanzo’s earlobe into his warm mouth while he fucks him unhurriedly with a single finger soaked in his own saliva.

“Or I will fuck you instead,” Hanzo threatens.

“Honey, I’m dying to fuck you right smart until ya’ scream my name,” McCree says. “But if ya want things the other way ‘round ya’ just gotta ask… _nicely_.”

He can’t see his face but Hanzo knows a wolfish grin is already on his lips at those words. And Hanzo wants to bed him, wants to pin McCree to the mattress and fuck him senseless, but not tonight, not now. All he wants now is those fingers to keep working him open so McCree can do whatever he wants with him because he will gladly let him.

“Do not stop,” Hanzo orders. “ _Please_.” The magic word to turn McCree into a mess, not even the warmth of his mouth or the touch of his hand would elicit a moan more pleasing than the one that leaves his lungs after that word. McCree pushes that finger inside him again, and again, but suddenly Hanzo is empty and panting with excitement.

“Then we’re gonna need lube, darlin’,” McCree whispers and turns him around.

Hanzo hurries to unfasten McCree’s belt while the cowboy loosens the tie and unbuttons his own shirt with deft fingers. With Hanzo’s help, he peels out of the way the garments that fall abandoned at their feet.

A moment, one of those rare moments when time slows down and all the eagerness and the longing is left behind to enjoy an earthly pleasure so simple as Hanzo running his trembling hands open like fans up to McCree’s chest. The fuzz tickles and gets in the way but he relishes in the muscles underneath, the strong chest and broad shoulders. Hanzo swoons at how much he has wanted to do this, and for how long.

McCree takes off his shoes and smiles at Hanzo’s bedazzling expression, then he undoes his clothes with the same skill, guided by the raw need to see Hanzo naked in front of him. That alabaster skin, that blue dragon greeting him, and that glorious body hidden most of the time in the most expensive fabrics now exposed just for him.

And McCree kneels in front of Hanzo, taking a precious time they can’t spare just kissing his way down his legs, loving kisses, bites, anything to make Hanzo shudder. He gets rid of the shoes and everything in his way and then glances up at the enrapturing creature ruling his will. One he doesn’t deserve, but that has fallen for him nonetheless. Hanzo.

“I’d die a happy man at your feet, sweetheart,” McCree says and kiss his knee.

“You better do not until you are finished with me,” Hanzo teases with a defying smirk on his lips.

McCree stands fast, grabs Hanzo’s ass and forces him to wind his arms around his neck so he can lift him. Those heavenly legs envelope his waist while he secures his precious cargo and ambles distractedly towards the bed. Distracted because he is looking up at those black eyes, and that stunning face covered by a veil of onyx hair. He is so regal McCree feels a pang of fear at waking up suddenly from this reverie.

“I’ll never have enough of ya’, my dear…” McCree whispers and earns a wide smile and a kiss.

A kiss that almost makes them fall when his shins touch the foot of the bed, but there is no way in hell McCree would let Hanzo fall from his arms. He rests a knee and a hand on the mattress and leans forward until Hanzo, wrapped around him as though his life depended on it, pulls him down with him.

“Jesse,” Hanzo mumbles and McCree is in love with how his name sounds on those lips; with him.

Lips he is devouring mercilessly now, not even in his most wet dreams or dirty fantasies he had imagined Hanzo like this. Feels so right his heart aches at the endless, languid kisses while their bodies rub against each other. It is not nearly enough. It will never be.

“First drawer,” Hanzo mumbles against his demanding lips and McCree chuckles. Hanzo wants to receive what’s been promised right here and right now.

McCree stands, his body reluctant to leave Hanzo’s warmth, and fumbles in the drawer until he finds what he’s been looking for. Then he glances at Hanzo and sees that gorgeous shape lying on the bed, illuminated only by the dim light of a nightstand lamp. His cheeks are a lovely pink color, his eyes glitter with lust and keenness while he leans on his elbows and stares back at McCree.

“You are staring,” Hanzo says with a smug smile.

“You are worth staring at, princess,” McCree says and winks, standing right in front of him again and ogling shamelessly every little detail to print them in his memory like that blueish shadow engraves Hanzo’s left arm.

“Then worship me, cowboy,” Hanzo teases. “ _Please_.” McCree clicks his tongue and chuckles at how Hanzo knows how to get to him so easily and he surrenders, beaten by that dragon that can feast on his soul every day or night now. He said please, but it’s an order, one at which McCree falls on his knees.

“C’mere, sweetheart,” McCree says.

Hanzo scoots over the edge of the bed with a smug smile on his face until McCree’s hands wrap around his thighs, lifting one of his legs over his shoulder and spreading the other. Then Hanzo moans when McCree kisses his inner thigh and drags his lips all the way up to his hip.

“Help a man in need,” McCree says and hands him the lube which Hanzo takes and opens single-handed to squeeze some on the offering hand.

McCree warms it up between his fingers while he kisses his way up to Hanzo’s hard length, beautifully exposed in front of him. Hanzo watches him how he lets his tongue out and laps at the hilt, gathering the dripping clear beads and smearing them on his lips. He moans loudly when a finger breaches him and he hooks his leg by the knee pit to give McCree a better access.

Hanzo fights to stay straightened up leaning on a single forearm but when the cowboy mouths at his most privates parts he falls back irremediably. He could come just like this, Hanzo thinks when McCree grips his cock with a big warm hand at the same time he mouths at his balls and that naughty finger moves inside him.

“Fuck,” Hanzo curses.

McCree moves his finger unhurriedly and pushes a second one inside, getting precious moans as a reward while he works Hanzo open. He fucks him with them, buried to the second knuckle while lube makes things smooth and pleasant if he can read well enough those needy noises filling the room.

He pushes deep inside, rummaging for something precious there while his mouth is full and busy, sucking and tugging at Hanzo’s sack. Then a loud whine and a shudder bring a wolfish grin to his face.

“Oh darlin’, I can’t wait to be inside ya’,” McCree teases and mumbles against his skin.

“Then hurry up,” Hanzo protests and whines at a third finger stretching him open.

It’s been a while since he has indulged himself in such activities, but the cowboy is stretching him so slowly and carefully the burn he felt is now a surge of pleasure at the fullness and the intruders pushing inside him. Hanzo wants more, craves more, and rocks his hips, trying to fill himself unsuccessfully because McCree leads the pace.

Hanzo loses track of time, he moans at the ceiling, spare _pleases_ and _mores_ just for McCree’s ears. Then the hand on his cock his gone after a teasing tug at it, the mouth kisses one last time his inner thigh and those fingers leave his body and he feels unpleasantly empty. He raises his back from the bed to see McCree licking his lips and inspecting his ass with eyes full of lust, both his thumbs pressing at the stretched muscle.

Hanzo can’t wait any longer. He turns around, crawls up the bed and lies on his stomach and chest. His left leg spread on the bed while he bends the other at the knee and lifts his ass at McCree. An offering he won’t be able to refuse, even less when Hanzo rests his head on his arm and glances back at him with puffy cheeks and longing eyes.

“Jesse, _please_ ,” he mumbles, but a glimpse of a mischievous smile gives him away. McCree doesn’t care.

“Holy shit, Hanzo,” McCree curses. “I’m losin’ my mind tonight.”

McCree follows, of course, he does, right in that welcoming space Hanzo has prepared for him between his legs. He kneels there, curses when he forgets the lube and has to turn around to find the abandoned bottle on the mattress. Jesse slicks himself generously watching that round ass presented to him and waiting willingly. He leans forward and kisses Hanzo’s back while the spare lube on his hand soak the sheets and he positions himself at his entrance with eagerness, but then McCree realizes he has the upper hand and chuckles.

“What?” Hanzo glares at him, annoyed at not being filled yet.

“Nothin’,” McCree says while his cock slides back and forth between Hanzo’s cheeks. He leans on his forearms, at both sides of Hanzo’s body and peppering kisses follow the rocking of his hips.

“McCree..” a warning, but the cowboy clicks his tongue and licks between his shoulder blades.

“I just wanna hear ya’, darlin’,” McCree says. “Wanna know if ya’ sound as needy here than ya’ do in my dreams.”

“Jesse, fuck me now,” Hanzo snarls and pushes his ass back with no luck. He’s pinned to the mattress, right where he wants to be, but empty.

“I know ya’ want it,” McCree whispers right into the crook of his neck while he nuzzles his way up. “Goddamnit, I want it more than ya’ do.” He buries his nose in his silky hair that smells like sweet dreams.

“ _Please_ , Jesse,” Hanzo purrs and McCree groans loudly , a deep exhale that warms Hanzo’s ear. “I want you, I want it,” Hanzo whispers and the tip pushes right where he wanted and he muffles his own moan into the mattress. Worth it, every single _please_ is worth it with McCree.

“Yer a dream, darlin’, “McCree says and his voice wavers when he pushes firmly and feels Hanzo’s warmth tight around him.

Hanzo moans and arches his back when McCree spreads his leg further apart and his weight slumps at his back, enveloping him whole. The cowboy smells spicy, manly, and he is breaking a sweat already while that thick length sinks inside him inch by inch. It burns and Hanzo loves it, how he stretches around him and he is full of him.

McCree groans at his back and kisses his nape and shoulders while his hips rock against him and his cock pushes in and pulls out of him at a leisurely pace that has him bursting with impatience. Deep inside, Hanzo knew he would be like this, tender, gentle, able to fuck you senseless or drive you slowly to your most pleasurable end, or both. He wants both.

“Harder,” Hanzo demands albeit his voice quivers.

The cowboy doesn’t disappoint, he pulls out almost all the way and bottoms out in a single onslaught that steals an embarrassing moan from Hanzo’s lungs. He does it again and picks up a dangerously fast pace that will send him over the edge untouched, only with the brushing of his neglected cock against the soft sheets and McCree thrusting mercilessly into him.

The slapping of skin against skin, his ragged breath at his neck and that teasing hand cupping his breast and pinching his nipple is too much. Hanzo is so close and minded he curses when McCree speaks and a needy sound leaves his mouth when he stops that killing pace he had set.

“Turn around,” he says, more like a begging, something Hanzo will never refuse. “I want to see ya’, darlin’. I need to see yer pretty face when ya’ come.”

McCree pulls out and helps Hanzo turn around. He spreads his legs for him and relishes in the lovely flush on the cowboy’s cheeks, on that mussed sex hair that makes him the sexiest man on earth while he roams his eyes over his body and Hanzo shudders at those lascivious eyes.

Before Hanzo can complain McCree leans over him, spreading his knees and nestling his body there -a perfect fit- while he finds his way, tilting his hips until he sinks himself inside Hanzo once again. McCree lets out a loud groan that makes Hanzo smile. Shameless flirting, always showing in the outside everything he is in the inside. Perfect, sweet cowboy that is making love to him like no one before.

Hanzo melts under those calculated thrusts, the mindful rocking of that body above him while McCree’s arms bracket his head and he presses his forehead against his own. From any other lover he would be overwhelmed, too close, too intimate, but with him it feels right, meant to be. Hanzo moans and wraps his legs around his waist to bring him down, to close the distance between them even more and Jesse smiles at him, even when his nails scratch his back when he hits that spot again and sends a jolt of pleasure all over his body.

McCree smiles and Hanzo swallows, overwhelmed by what he can read in those starry eyes, by the urgent thumping of his heart, and by that intense lovemaking that is breaking every wall he has taken years to build up, shielding him from everything and everyone. And he has let McCree in and he is lost, drown in his sweet eyes and loving words.

“What’s wrong?” McCree murmurs, breathless, on edge, and still moving.

“You mean so much to me,” Hanzo states with that stern face so characteristic of him, staring into McCree’s gentle eyes and destroying his resolve.

“I know, darlin’, “I know,” McCree says and buries his face in the crook of his neck, nuzzling there while he thrusts in and out of him faster. Hanzo holds him close, gives in and lets out a dreamy sigh at a weight lifted from his chest. “Come for me, sweetheart,” McCree says and looks at him again.

Hanzo drowns in those brown eyes that seem black now at how wide his pupils are, he forgets his own name with that restless cowboy stealing the most intense pleasure for him. And he feels that thick cock inside him filling him to the brim, that sweet mouth whispering sweet nothings and praising how beautiful he is, how wanted, how wished, how everything because he is everything to that stupid cowboy and he has no doubt now.

McCree can barely form a logical sentence and his onslaughts are frantic and needy. He is waiting for him, Hanzo knows, and he yields to that lingering pressure in his loins when that heavenly, thick cock brushes the right spot and those lips kiss his flushed, red cheeks. Hanzo comes and clenches around McCree’s cock as he spills himself between them. Warm seed pouring from him right into his stomach. The cowboy groans, trapped by him.

“Jesse,” Hanzo gasps, his voice raspy and deep. “Come inside me, please.”

McCree’s stomach curls and he whines, that was genuine. He meant it, and it melts his heart, all his feelings pour out of him while he makes love to Hanzo, he doesn’t want to stop, doesn’t want it to end, and yet…

Hanzo feels it, that one last thrust which shoves McCree deep inside him, buried to the hilt in his welcoming heat while his cock jerks and he comes inside him. The cowboy drags his lips over his mouth and mumbles. “So pretty, my dear…” And he falls slack on top of him, breathes on his neck while Hanzo strokes his back and tangles a hand in his brown messy hair. He doesn’t try to squirm out of his hold, he waits, revels in his weight and his body on him.

“I’m crushin’ ya’,” McCree mumbles and Hanzo chuckles while the cowboy stands on his forearms and kiss his lips again. “I could die tomorrow and die a happy man.”

“Do not die,” Hanzo says and rolls his eyes, earning another kiss before McCree stands with a grunt and leaves the bed swiftly. “Where are you going?” Hanzo asks and curses how needy that sounds.

“What? Bathroom, ya’ made a bit of a mess, honey,” McCree says on his way there and comes back with a wet towel. Hanzo tries to take it but Jesse doesn’t let him. He cleans lovingly the result of their lovemaking with a pleasant smile and Hanzo lets him.

“Did ya’ think I was going to my bed?” Hanzo purses his lips and snorts. “Oh darlin’, sweetheart, princess,” McCree purrs and discards the towel on the floor, hugging Hanzo and sparing kisses along his jaw. “I ain’t leavin’ yer bed, not for a million bucks.”

“Stop this nonsense,” Hanzo complains but can’t help a half-smile creeping up his lips.

“Maybe ya’ haven’t noticed yet, but I’m a fool in love, sweetheart,” McCree whispers, lying on his back while Hanzo snuggles into him and plays with the fuzz on his chest.

“One thing is true, you are a fool,” Hanzo teases and lets out a hearty chuckle.

“Fool me,” McCree murmurs, lifting Hanzo’s chin to steal a kiss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A dialogue from the "Retribution" event inspired the first part of this chapter *___* I'll leave it here in case you want to know which:
> 
> Genji: Talon tried to recruit my father.  
> Reyes: Didn’t take them up on their offer?  
> Genji: He did not find them to his liking. Their aims did not coincide with his own.
> 
> I cannot thank you all enough for your lovely words and comments ((ﾉ〃ω〃)ﾉﾞ


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I struggle with these kind of chapters but I also love to write them... Ahh! you know what else I love? Sion Hanzo skin ( ͡~ ͜ʖ ͡°)

The stink of sweat and blood makes McCree wrinkle up his nose when they enter the venue in which the fight will take place tonight. Legal fight, fortunately, but still brings memories to his mind he’d rather keep buried deep inside. They head to the VIP lounge reserved for the Shimadas where Sojiro is already enjoying a drink with his subordinates. High ground balcony, enclosed area, only two wide stairs allow access, and they are well secured by their men; he won’t have to worry about Hanzo as long as he is there. The fight won’t be the issue, the meeting thereafter, that’s another whole story.

“Are you all right?” Hanzo leans and whispers, glancing up at him with glazed eyes.

McCree grants him a half-smile, then he glimpses the hilt of the katana at Hanzo’s back and frowns. They are all armed, putting up a show -meaningless, he thinks- oblivious that if they were to face a real attack tonight they’d be in serious trouble.

The place is not nearly as safe as the Shimadas believe. It is Shimada-gumi territory, sure, but after investigating in depth about Talon and his reputed methods, McCree feels uneasy and has a bad feeling tingling in the back of his nape. His cowboy gut has never betrayed him in the past.

McCree knows the place, they’d been here before so he knows how to get in and how to get out fast. He inspects the faces among the lounge, all familiar, he even nods at the bodyguards he recognizes. Sojiro greets him and raises his glass briefly without interrupting his conversation. The demonstrations of power are important, McCree thinks when he sees that Sojiro acts very differently here than he does with them privately, and he shudders when he realizes the similarities on Hanzo’s façade.

Two waiters from the bar lounge amble around to take care of the guests, everything seems to be in order. They have a perfect view of the boxing ring from here, the contenders already warming up in their own corners when he spots that garish green hair moving in the crowd and heading right to them.

“What’s Genji doin’ here?” McCree asks Hanzo discreetly.

“Isn’t he a Shimada?” Hanzo says while he rolls the sleeves of his shirt over his elbows, exposing part of his tattoo for everyone to see and then leans his sheathed blade on a chair.

McCree forgets what he wanted to say when he takes another sidelong at Hanzo tonight. His hair tied at the back in a bun that can’t tame the naughty lock disturbing his face. He’s wearing a black striped suit, lean trousers that suit him too well for his own sake, and a vest -no jacket tonight- with a detail at the sides in a bright blue, matching the tie.

Hanzo looks so damn perfect all McCree wants is tonight to be over so he can unwrap him from those clothes and sweat over him until the next morning. Maybe secure his wrists with that blue silky tie he’s wearing. He swallows when he sees Hanzo’s smug smile and knows he has caught him staring.

“I thought ya’ wanted him safe,” McCree says, pushing the dirty thoughts aside.

“We are who we are, cowboy,” Hanzo wryly says and repositions the black leather gloves enveloping his hands while he takes a seat at a reserved table next to Sojiro’s. “Sit with me.”

“In a minute, sweetheart. I’m gonna check our escape route just in case,” McCree says. “An’ I wanna have a look at the meeting room too.”

Those _meetings_ are familiar to him by now. There are two ways the yakuza deal with a problem: after an expensive meal at the private booth of a restaurant or in a reunion in a concrete austere room with barely two lightbulbs hanging from the ceiling. Tonight we have the second one, the ones that usually come out wrong and someone loses a finger.

“You cannot keep me safe from who I am,” Hanzo says and chortles, waving to Genji who’s entering the lounge.

“The hell I can’t, darlin’,” McCree says and winks at him.

“Someone is looking hot tonight, anija,” Genji says, tapping McCree’s shoulder as a greeting before sitting next to Hanzo who bows his head to thank Genji for the compliment. His brother isn’t far behind, black distressed jeans and plain grey shirt covered by a chocolate brown leather jacket. Hanzo almost approves his attire until he takes a peek at those insulting green vans and he rolls his eyes.

“Tell me you did not come here unarmed,” Hanzo scowls at him. Genji lifts his jacket and shows his faithful wakizashi sheathed on his lower back.

“Alright, be right back,” McCree says and turns to leave the lounge. “Please don’t go anywhere while I’m tryin’ to do my job, will ya’, sweetheart?”

“Do not call me that,” Hanzo says -doesn’t mean it- while he watches McCree leave. Genji pierces his brother with his eyes and waits until McCree disappears downstairs to scowl openly at Hanzo. He calls the waiter and asks for a drink before grabbing Hanzo’s attention again.

“What are you doing, anija? Genji asks while the waiter serves him a drink.

“What do you mean?” Hanzo says and orders the same for him too, though he soon regrets his decision because Genji’s choices often include gin.

“Don’t play dumb with me,” Genji says and suddenly, his little brother frowns at him. “Jesse.”

“Hm?” Hanzo sips his drink. He wrinkles up his nose. Gin.

“Hanzo,” Genji snarls. “I care about Jesse. I like Jesse. Do not hurt Jesse. He’s my friend, and he’s been in love with you since forever. This isn’t a game.”

“I never said it was,” Hanzo says, his voice calm and hoarse. “And it is none of your business, besides this isn’t the place or the...”

“I mean it. Jesse is not someone you can have fun with and then get tired of,” Genji says and now Hanzo meets those black eyes full of concern.

“What do you want me to say, Genji?” Hanzo sighs and fixes his eyes on the glass in front of him. “That while I meticulously plan everything in my life I did not foresee this outcome, and I have fallen for it like a fool?” Hanzo swallows. “For him…” he murmurs and meets his brother’s eyes.

“Yeah,” Genji says and smiles satisfied with his answer. “Something like that.” Genji lifts his drink and Hanzo does the same and sips, sealing with a toast the conversation. “Besides, you guys were loud last night,” Genji says. " _Please_?" and chuckles, enjoying grately how Hanzo chokes on his drink while he pats his back.

 

McCree lurks across the crowd gathered in the surroundings of the boxing ring. The fight has just started and the people are already cheering and shouting. He huffs, annoyed, he can understand why those men are up there fighting, but can’t quite get why someone would want to watch it. It ain’t pretty, he thinks.

Their security patrol the main entrance, so he heads to the back and right into the locker room. There’s a considerable amount of Shimada-gumi men here tonight, and far from appease his mind, McCree believes Sojiro has kept, once again, vital information for himself.

The familiarity of the sweaty towels abandoned on the floor, the forgotten boxing gloves in a corner, the buckets, and the benches sink his heart, but then McCree thinks about Hanzo, about how last night he had him in his arms just for himself and he smiles. Everything in his life has pushed him in one way or another to this outcome, to Japan. If that’s his reward, every drop of sweat or blood, every fight and every night starving has been worth the pain because every step of the way has led him to Hanzo.

McCree’s steps echo in the room and join the muffled racket from the enthusiastic crowd enjoying the fight while he gets to the farthest end of the locker room and checks the backdoor. Closed. It should be open as he has previously instructed. There is no time to look for the key so he rummages around the room until he finds a sturdy stool.

With a brisk thump, McCree breaks the handle, and the door opens, then he closes it again. Now they have their way out as planned. He calls the secondary car and orders the driver to head to his position. The car they arrived in is still at the front door as though it’s waiting for the Shimada family to leave, but their real ride will wait behind that door, which leads to a back alley with two ways out. Not ideal, but it’ll do.

McCree comes back to the long hall, no exits, only the spare locker room, and utility closets. He knits his eyebrows and clicks his tongue, still not convinced about the place. In the far end, he enters the meeting room. As he knew and expected, a simple four concrete walls, empty room without windows that smells like mold. The prospect of a group of men gathering here doesn’t thrill him, especially when there are only two doors, the one he came in and a second one that leads to another hall that surrounds the venue and allows quick travel from one way to the other without crossing the crowd.

On his way back to the lounge, even if McCree has checked every detail he could come up with, the tingling sensation at his nape is still there. He chews his tongue, wants the fight to be over already, but the contenders are immersed in the second round. McCree doesn’t know who they are, not that he cares, but when the one in blue lands a mean sucker punch with his left it reminds him of himself; the other poor bastard falls on a knee and the referee starts the countdown. He will get up, McCree knows, that’s what he’d do, but he can feel the ringing in his ears by the blow, the blurred vision, and the flashes of light.

“Ya’ left your right flank exposed,” McCree murmurs, and his lip twitches upward.

Everything is so different from down here, safer, as though that blood means nothing, when it is not accompanied by the pain of shedding it yourself. He definitely needs a smoke. McCree checks the main entrance again and uses the opportunity to ask for a cigarette to one of their men posted there.

He leans on the front of the building and scrutinizes the parking lot. Again, everything seems to be in order here too. McCree takes a long drag and feels the burn in his lungs at the warm smoke; he doesn’t smoke as much as he used to, a nasty habit he won’t get rid off completely for sure. The cigarette falls half-burnt on the sidewalk and he heads back inside, the calm he has enjoyed outside bluntly ruined by the heat of the fight.

When McCree comes back to the lounge, Hanzo greets him with a smile and he feels blessed, how not to, when he eyes that wonderful occurrence right before his stern face comes back. He sits at his side and craves a touch that wouldn’t be appropriate here, so McCree bites his tongue and represses the half-smile when a hand squeezes his knee under the table.

“Is everything in order?” Hanzo asks.

McCree wants to tell him about how the meeting room is a mouse trap with only two exists, that while everything looks in place and familiar, he has a hunch sinking his heart and can’t put his mind to rest, but he doesn’t. Hanzo’s smart enough to be alert, and he is there to take care of everything else.

“Not really,” McCree says and finally that wolfish grin comes back to his face. “You’re not on my lap giving me some sugar.” He clicks his tongue and takes a peek at those beaming black voids.

“Unacceptable,” Hanzo chuckles and nudges him.

“I don’t know if I should puke or pick the wedding invitations,” Genji teases and rolls his eyes at them.

The fight’s over, though neither McCree nor Hanzo have paid much attention to it. There’s an intermission, and that’s their cue. Before the next fight starts the meeting will take place and McCree will be out of there with the Shimadas. Sojiro stands, Hanzo and Genji follow, and he lets the other two bodyguards lead the way while he stays at the back, eyes wide open to any threat directed to them.

For the first time tonight McCree deems maybe he is overreacting and everything will go as smoothly as always, nobody threats the Shimada-gumi openly, fearing the consequences; but then it’s back, that itch he can’t scratch when those grey walls enclose the whole party. The other family leaders are already there because the gods forbid the Shimadas if they don’t arrive fashionably late.

Hanzo stands at his father’s right and senses McCree shifting behind him. He feels safer having him there with them. The Shimada has tried to feign his uneasiness the whole night because of his father keeping things from him until the very last minute. He missed the meeting with the Elders for that reason, and Hanzo suspects this one has also an inner purpose beyond uniting the yakuza families against Talon.

Learning his father’s ways is important because one day he will have to lead the Shimada-gumi. Hanzo has dedicated most part of his youth and adulthood to a -comfortable- life of crime along with his father so he knows by heart who are the men in front of him.

Four families control the scene in Hanamura, the Shimada-gumi, led by Sojiro and the council compound by the Elders -which Hanzo judges clearly outdated- and three lesser clans whose leaders gather here tonight.

The Azuma-gumi belongs to a man known by the same surname; short, affable man, less intimidating than he should’ve. They are a well-known ally to the Shimada-gumi and Sojiro greets him first. Hanzo follows with a respectful bow and takes a peek at Genji, distracted as always and faking his disinterest.

Several bodyguards and goons surround the bosses; the room is stuffed tonight, and the atmosphere is already dense and, to Hanzo’s liking, unbearable. Taishu, the boss of the Yonsha-kai is next, probably the least powerful influence in the room. Hanzo doesn’t like him, their benefits come from dealing with illegal substances, but he greets him politely right after his father, though he glares at that sly smile every single time.

Hanzo looks for McCree’s gaze behind him and he finds him smoking. The cowboy winks at him and he suppresses a twitch on the corner of his lip at the gesture. If he’s smoking McCree’s nervous, surely wanting this nuisance over as soon as possible.

Isao Seki, the head of the Sumiyoshi-kai refuses to pay his respects to Sojiro and stays stock still at the farthest side of the room with a smug smile that makes Hanzo snort. His father bows his head respectfully and, finally, the men gather around that sad light bulb witnessing the scene from the ceiling.

Hanzo moves next to his father; he isn’t in charge but his involvement is important to Sojiro, always been, that’s why they are here he and Genji. A family needs to stick together in order to build an empire the size of their own, and, more importantly, to keep it that way.

“As you well know, the Shimada-gumi has been attacked twice these past weeks,” Sojiro says, his voice unemotional even if he’s speaking about his own children’s lives at risk. “We have a common enemy infiltrated in Hanamura.”

“It is an enemy because you have decided so,” Isao Seki snarls, his fists tightly wrapped at both sides of his body and two goons bracketing him in a futile attempt to protect him.

Sojiro smirks and glances at Hanzo who draws his katana in a single movement, a clean beautiful noise of steel sliding out of the sheath fills the room and ends the murmurs at once. Genji stands behind him, his right hand hidden at his back securing his wakizashi by the hilt and McCree doesn’t lose time and draws Peacekeeper but keeps the barrel pointing to the ground. He knows better than that.

“You are over, Sojiro,” Isao threatens. “You and your sons.” The man points to Hanzo and Genji but they don’t move, they don’t even acknowledge an offense by those empty words.

“Talon will not run freely around Hanamura as long as I am the leader of the Shimada-gumi,” Sojiro says and the other two crime lords nod in a silent agreement. Hanzo knows they were aware of the traitor and curses again at his father for not feeding him that information sooner.

“That can be arranged,” Isao says and laughs.

Hanzo glares at him, taking a step forward while the tip of his sword threatens the bare neck of the man in front of him. McCree curses inwardly and aims Peacekeeper at the two bodyguards that immediately draw their weapons but look at each other doubtful at the situation.

“Do you believe my intentions differ from my father’s?” Hanzo says wryly with a half-smile on his lips that bristles McCree’s whole body; his voice so different now than what he’s been listening these past days, cold and distant. It clenches his stomach even if it’s not directed to him.

“Talon could be a valuable asset,” Isao says and swallows when Hanzo’s blade touches his Adam’s apple. “I know some of you agree with me,” he barks at the men in the room but neither of them moves or speak in his favor.

“I could kill you and no one here would lift a finger for you,” Hanzo threatens.

“Shimada-sama!” Isao says and Sojiro laughs at the use of his title now, a little too late for that.

“My _heir_ ,” Sojiro says and remarks the word, “would be making an executive decision I approve.”

Hanzo can see the fear in the man’s eyes, but he has no intention to spill blood tonight, unless his father gives the order. That man is an asset, more valuable to the Shimada-gumi alive than dead, and risking an internal war now that Talon is meddling in their business would be a mistake. Though the fear in his eyes makes Hanzo smirk because he has the upper hand in the negotiations tonight.

“Talon has no business in Hanamura, period,” Sojiro says. “They have nowhere to hide and nowhere to run. It’s your choice if you are with them or with us.” An offer, one Isao better doesn’t turn down, Hanzo thinks.

A strangled noise leave the man’s lungs, nonplussed at the situation that has clearly not reached his expectations. Probably Talon filled his mind -or pockets- with fantasies of power at deposing Sojiro assassinating his sons. A bold move trying to climb the ladder he will have to atone for, and betrayal among the yakuza is paid with blood.

“I…” the man crumbles, sweating and stumbling over his own words. “Talon is coming here to get you, all of you,” Isao confesses. “I gave up our location.”

“Of course you did,” Sojiro says with a sly smile and then the noise of gunshots outside the building interrupt the meeting and the men gathering there get nervous but don’t dare to move until Sojiro says otherwise.

The noises of the shooting are distant which means they still have some minutes to spare though their forces posted outside should be enough. Hanzo lowers his weapon and glances at his father.

“Hanamura belongs to the Shimada-gumi and Talon is, from this day, public enemy. That goes for all the families.” The men nod and express his agreement openly to Sojiro’s satisfaction.

“We will speak again, get ready for the yubitsume, Isao,” Sojiro says, dismissing the meeting while the men hurry to flee from the room before the Talon reinforcements get to them.

“That went well,” Genji jokes and Hanzo rolls his eyes at the inappropriate time for a jest.

“We have to get out of here now,” McCree says and urges Hanzo to follow him through the door.

Two of their men lead the way while McCree stays behind Hanzo and Genji. A too damn long corridor, he curses. Hanzo sheathes his katana at his back and looks back to check McCree is following closely. Then Hanzo glimpses the door at their rear opening again, and before he can warn the cowboy, two fully armored men carrying heavy assault rifles open fire. One of them falls fast, a bullet pierces the juncture at his neck, and a gargling noise of a man drowning in his own blood fills the room. The other shoots again and Hanzo cowers while they put distance between their attackers quickly, heading directly to the locker room where they have their way out thanks to McCree.

Hanzo, even though he shouldn’t, relishes in McCree’s life-threatening eyes while he aims single-handed at the other trooper. Something stirs inside him at the sight of that unstoppable man who seems unaltered by the recoil of the heavy weapon in his hand and shots twice. One blow on the shoulder, deviating another burst of bullets to the ceiling and the other in the head. Hanzo grips his left hand and pulls McCree with him, he is undoubtedly not going anywhere without the cowboy.

“Move!” Hanzo orders and McCree winks at him and obeys, placing a warm hand on the small of his back and wishing they’d have time for a kiss right here and right now.

They are almost at the door, Sojiro is safe with the men up front, Genji in the middle and McCree and Hanzo at their six. But right when the cowboy thinks the worst has passed an evil laugh resonates from the same door the troopers came.

Two red glowing blades threaten them in the distance, one attached to each arm, her whole body covered by a cybernetic armor. The ninja is crouching on the floor, ready to attack. Hanzo unsheathes his katana and McCree hurries to shoot but the assassin, surprisingly, dodges the bullet, attaching herself to a wall and then coming back to her previous position. That evil laugh echoes again in the long hall.

“Holy shit,” McCree curses.

“This one’s mine,” Genji says with a sly smile and draws his wakizashi, yielding it near his face while he pins the assassin in place with his eyes.

“Genji!” Hanzo says, but it’s too late.

The assassin is fast and charges right at Genji. Hanzo stops breathing while he watches his little brother dashing forward to counterattack the menace. He had forgotten how skilled Genji is with blades. Apparently, all those nights clubbing haven’t kept him from training and Hanzo feels a hint of pride. It happens fast. McCree shouts Genji’s name but Hanzo, a trained eye, smirks.

She doesn’t see it coming either. Genji dodges the blades with a double jump and darts right into her. His short blade slices through flesh and steel at her neck, the life pouring out of her in a mixture of blood and a black dense liquid. Talon’s operatives are getting spookier every time. Genji cleans the blade on his sleeve and glances back at McCree and Hanzo with a sweet smile as though he hasn’t stolen a life right in front of them.

“Well done,” Hanzo says and tilts his head to his brother while both sheath their weapons in unison.

“Damn Shimadas,” McCree mumbles. “Let’s go, we gotta get out of here.” Hanzo and Genji chuckle but follow obediently through the long hall to where Sojiro and the other two men are waiting for them, unaltered by the threat no longer behind them.

“Wouldn’t be cool to be a cyborg ninja?” Genji teases.

“How would you wear those fashionable clothes if you had a body like that?” Hanzo says.

“I’d be fashionable myself,” Genji says and squeezes his brother’s shoulder.

Seems like nobody knew their escape route; McCree has done his job and Sojiro glances at him satisfied at his resolve and his backup plan. The escape route is secured and everyone’s safe.

Sojiro’s men open the back door of the locker room and McCree exhales when he sees the car waiting for them; the nightmare is almost over. He’s walking behind Hanzo, and the Shimada turns around, pinning him in place with those beautiful eyes of his and that sweet smile he wants to see for the rest of his life, McCree knows. Hanzo touches him briefly, a stroke, a mere brush of their hands and he doesn’t need words to understand.

McCree smiles back, wanting to catch those lips with his own but damn if that wouldn’t be bold in front of Sojiro. He chuckles inwardly at the thought and pushes Hanzo outside, his hand secured at his back wanting to say the words that can’t leave his mouth now, but will later. Hanzo is about to get in the car, he leans forward, but not without a last glance at the man behind him, a stupid cowboy he wants to be with for the rest of his life. Hanzo makes a mental note to never tell him that but to prove himself worthy of him every single day.

Then he sees it and his heart skips a beat; that red dot mocking him on McCree’s chest. It is again one of those precious moments when time slows down and you think faster than you act. _I could die tomorrow and die a happy man_ , McCree said yesterday at his feet and then again craddling in his arms. Do not die. Do not dare to die, Hanzo thinks.

“Sniper!” someone yells.

McCree lifts Peacekeeper and aims. He won’t have time to shoot, Hanzo knows. That red dot wants to take away what is rightfully his and Hanzo won’t let that happen. He shouts his name out of pure raw instinct, he is angry and scared and that’s something Shimada Hanzo isn’t used to.

Hanzo has never feared dying, but now he panics at losing Jesse. Do not die, he rambles in his mind as a mantra while his body stands between Jesse and the bullet without thinking about the consequences. There is nothing McCree can do to stop him. If he’s in the way that bullet won’t go through McCree’s heart but himself and he won’t lose him. Hanzo can’t lose him, not now.

What he hasn’t calculated is the pain, that piercing, intense pain of a bullet coming right through your flesh. And it burns like hell, a hot projectile stuck inside him so harshly his back stomps against McCree’s chest by the impact. But Jesse’s safe, that’s what matters when Hanzo feels that strong arm wrapped around his waist, trying to pull him down to cover his body with the car door and then that roar so familiar to him by now, Peacekeeper angrily shooting McCree’s rage. He doesn’t miss, he can’t afford to miss and a hoarse grunt and a distant thump are the telltales of a fallen sniper. His aim will always impress Hanzo. Who needs a scope when you are Jesse McCree, a cowboy who always aims high.

McCree curses, and yells, and calls his name but all Hanzo can feel is an excruciating pain and is having a hard time breathing. The bullet is inside him, hot and annoying, like a certain cowboy. Even with that, Hanzo is conscious and finds himself in the backseat of the car between a worrying Genji barely holding the tears and McCree, trying to hold the pool of blood coming out his right side.

Hanzo looks down and sees his vest wide open and his shirt soaked in his own blood. Looks like the wound is below his clavicle and he can’t move his right arm, not that he wants that to be the last thing his eyes see, so he glances up at McCree and tries to smile, dizzy and trembling, because he can see the fear in those whiskey-colored eyes he loves so much.

After so much time in denial, refusing to admit his feelings, Hanzo realizes now. The more time McCree spent with him the more he settled in his heart, unnoticed, unavoidable, a universal law you cannot fight but accept as truthful and bend to it.

 _Jesse_.

“Darlin’, please, stay with me,” McCree whispers.

“Scared of losing your job?” Hanzo teases and coughs, his mouth is dry. Coughing hurts like a bitch, but he knows he is alive, and he is most definitely not dying tonight or any time soon. He still has too much to do to that filthy cowboy. Hanzo tries to snort at how stupid is to take a bullet meant for your own bodyguard.

“Ya’ sure like makin’ things hard for me, sweetheart,” McCree says but the usual melodic tone of his voice has been replaced with fear. “They got ya’ pretty bad, shit.”

McCree tries to press the wound to stop the bleeding, but it is useless, with the bullet still inside, not knowing the damage it has done. He swallows and meets Genji’s eyes. Hanzo is losing too much blood and they still need to get to Dr. Ziegler's clinic. He prays to any god out there because he cannot live without that impossible nightmare, that brat who owns his heart; to hell with it, he owns him, always has, always will.

“I am fine, Jesse,” Hanzo mumbles before everything goes black. Deep black.

“Darlin’, please… Hanzo,” McCree says.

 

 

_A week later_

Hanzo huddles comfortably in McCree’s couch between endless cushions and a cosy blanket on his legs. He has forgotten how many days they’ve spent at his place but he doesn’t miss his apartment and doesn’t care where they are as long as they’re together. He is almost recovered from the bullet wound and he is considering getting away for a few days just the two of them, far from work or yakuza grudges interrupting their life. Every attempt of Talon to meddle in Hanamura’s business is being thwarted by the Shimada-gumi and the other families who have -not that they had a choice- joined together to fight a common enemy. Needless to say, Sojiro is more than pleased.

He shuffles the song playing on his music device and a smug smile spreads on Hanzo’s lips when he decides a trip is exactly what they need, a nice surprise for his cowboy. Hanzo grabs the laptop to lurk the internet and arrange a romantic escapade. Venice will be the perfect place to get lost for a few days. Hanzo loses track of time and, after a while, he has booked two first-class plane tickets and three nights at the Grand Hotel La Serenissima. Then he remembers something that had conveniently slipped his mind and bites his bottom lip.

Hanzo doesn’t even know where to start, but types a really weird search he’d never thought he’d be doing. He snorts at the results, amused and kind of thrilled to indulge himself in something that clearly will blow Jesse’s mind for good.

“What are you doing, anija?” Genji says from behind the couch while taking off one of his earphones.

Hanzo curses and closes the lid of the laptop in a futile attempt to prevent his little brother to nose around. He still has keys to McCree’s place, and he has visited Hanzo every day since the shooting. His arrival today has been unfortunate. Worst timing possible.

“Nothing,” Hanzo says but can’t help the blush creeping up his cheeks.

“I saw it,” Genji says and springs into the couch with him, stealing the laptop from his hands between chuckles. Then, Genji opens the lid again and laughs at the screen full of women in sensual lingerie. “I thought you didn’t like women.”

“Shut up,” Hanzo warns and nudges Genji. “It is not what it seems.”

“Is that for Jesse?” Genji says and points right into a girl’s butt on the screen. Hanzo blushes deeply, wants to dig a hole and bury himself in it, or better, Genji, so he doesn’t have to listen to the endless jestering about this for the rest of his life. “Anija, is it for you? Is he into that?”

Genji chuckles and Hanzo tries, to no avail, to grab the laptop from Genji’s hands. What if he is? Hanzo has been thinking about it since the cowboy mentioned it and, though it’s something he wouldn’t have come up with on his own, the thought of driving McCree crazy so easily admiring his body wrapped in those delicate fabrics… excite him.

“It is for me,” Hanzo says, finally. “And yes, it was his idea.”

“And you’re falling for it?”

“I am _considering_ it,” Hanzo arches an eyebrow at Genji.

“Please, anija,” Genji says, biting his lip while sweet, black eyes twins of his own glitter with amusement. “Let me help you.”

“What do you know about lingerie?” Hanzo inquires, shifting uncomfortably on the couch because his brother helping him pick lingerie for Jesse isn’t how he planned to spend the morning.

“Excuse me?” Genji says, clearly offended. “My fashion taste is impeccable.”

“Fine,” Hanzo snorts and rolls his eyes. “But if you use this against me, I will kill you.”

“You wouldn’t do that to me!” Genji pouts. “You adore me.”

“Do not tempt me, Genji,” Hanzo says with a smug smile. “Now go,” he urges him.

Genji looks genuinely excited about his relationship with the cowboy. At first, he thought it was another of Hanzo’s flash relationships that end up fast and suddenly, but the night he got shot protecting Jesse Genji realized there was a lot more going on between them.

“I am assuming you want something tasteful and expensive?” Hanzo nods, obviously he wants the best. “Women or men’s lingerie?”

“There is such a thing as men lingerie?” Hanzo asks and Genji snorts, rolling his eyes because, without him, his anija would be lost.

“Of course, so everything _fits_ , if you know what I mean,” Genji says and wiggles his eyebrows.

“Oh,” Hanzo gasps and frowns. “I hadn’t thought about that. He didn’t say.”

“It’s alright, let’s just look through a few stores and we’ll narrow the search from there,” Genji says. “May I suggest indigo blue instead of black?"

“Jesse said black,” Hanzo murmurs and Genji snorts again but lifts his hands in the air in a sign of peace when Hanzo glares at him.

“Did he say something else?” Genji says, trying too hard not to burst into laughter at how red his brother is.

“He said he liked lace,” Hanzo coughs. “And ribbons.”

“A garter belt?”

“A what?” Hanzo asks and Genji searches on the internet quickly to show him. “Oh, _that_. I think he might like that though it looks complicated.”

“Jesse will know what to do with it for sure,” Genji chuckles and Hanzo scowls at him.

The bedroom door opens and McCree’s loud noises while he stretches fill the room. Hanzo has realized the cowboy is a sleepy head and sleeps until late in the morning whenever he can. Hanzo has also found out that if he doesn’t leave his bed when he wakes up Jesse is more than pleased to indulge himself in some morning sex.

“Whatcha guys doing?” McCree’s sleepy voice asks while he yawns again and comes into the living room, stretching his arms over his head while he groans loudly. Hanzo smiles at the scenery but then he remembers what they’re actually doing and he closes slowly the lid of the laptop, just in case. He and Genji share a knowing glance and then stare at McCree who is still waiting for an answer.

“Shimada brothers business, okay,” McCree says and frowns, confused. “I’ll go take a shower. Can I get a smooch?”

“No,” Hanzo says curtly. “Leave.”

“Yer so mean,” McCree chuckles. “Why am I dating ya’?”

“I took a bullet for you,” Hanzo says with a sly smile, knowing he will win pretty much any argument or disagreement for the rest of eternity.

“An’ don’t ya’ ever do that again, sweetheart,” McCree says pointing at him, but after a wink, he disappears again into the bedroom.

“I am surprised dad didn’t fire him,” Genji says.

“Me too, though, to be fair, I took that bullet gladly,” Hanzo says and chuckles, remembering how his father never mentioned why he did what he did but granted him a knowing smile Hanzo didn’t want to question any further.

“I know,” Genji says and leans on Hanzo’s shoulder. “I believe it’s equally important to know when to take a bullet than when to kill with one.”

“Jesse keeps my feet on the ground,” Hanzo says.

“And he’s convinced you to wear feminine lingerie,” Genji says and chuckles, opening the laptop to resume their investigation.

“I am _considering_ it,” Hanzo says with a smug smile.

“Yeah, yeah,” Genji teases. “In Jesse’s words” -Genji clears his throat and fakes a southern accent- “Yer gonna be so pretty, sweetheart.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really hope you liked it! Even though it came out longer than I wanted (I hope it wasn't too boring) (๑˃̵ᴗ˂̵)و  
> We're almost there, and yes! we're going to Venice (Rialto map) and there will be fluff, smut (and more smut) and the "Lace Surprise" tag will make sense once and for all <3
> 
> (｡・//ε//・｡)
> 
> Yubitsume: ritual to atone for offenses to another, a way to be punished or to show sincere apology and remorse to another, by means of amputating portions of one's own little finger. In modern times it is primarily performed by the yakuza, one of the most prominent Japanese criminal organizations.  
> Wakizashi: traditional Japanese sword usually paired with a katana.  
> (from the Wikipedia)


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The last chapter yey!! ╭(♡･ㅂ･)و ̑̑ I really hope you enjoy it ^___^

Hanzo congratulates himself for the wonderful idea he has had while he admires the watercolor mixture of the Grand Canal. Blues and pinks dance with each other while the sun goes down on the horizon and stretches to the water in a long gingerly stream. The colorful buildings reflecting on the water and the soft warm breeze altogether creating the perfect atmosphere from the roof of the restaurant.

He and Jesse arrived yesterday and, like any other couple would do, they got lost in the maze of streets, holding hands, finding hidden places to steal a kiss and build a new memory to come back to in the future. Hanzo never thought he’d find this kind of happiness, being a crime lord, with an empire at his back and too many things to hide. He is a killer; he can’t deny that he smuggles with weapons, threatens people, kills people, lives a complicated life in a complicated family and yet, he has a piece of heaven on earth thanks to the cowboy in front of him.

McCree’s black suit has been replaced by his old jeans, cowboy boots and flannel shirts Hanzo hates but secretly wears whenever he is not around. McCree has caught him once or twice and has enjoyed greatly recovering his lost garment by stealing it from Hanzo’s body. Any excuse is good to see him as _God brought him to the world_ as the cowboy would say.

Hanzo glimpses McCree’s sweet smile while he gazes out upon the watercolor landscape and finishes the last bites of his tiramisù. Hanzo suspects the cowboy has found a new favorite and asks for it anywhere they go to eat, not that he minds, he’d get him the moon if he could, just to see him smile. Luckily for Hanzo, making McCree smile is easy, just now he can’t help that dopey smile spread on his lips until he meets his gaze and it widens, reaching his eyes. Perfect.

“A penny for your thoughts,” McCree says, reclining back on the chair of the restaurant.

“You realize you are maddeningly gorgeous,” Hanzo says and the corner of his mouth twitches upward when he spots that sweet, pink blush on Jesse’s cheeks. “When you do not carry an endless banter.” Hanzo chuckles and McCree joins him.

“So mean, darlin’,” McCree says and sighs. “Lovely view up here, mind you.”

“It is so peaceful here compared to Hanamura.”

The restaurant’s terrace where Hanzo insisted they had to dine since they arrived, gifts them with a perfect view of Venice, though McCree is definitely more interested in that naughty lock of hair and those infinite black eyes. Hanzo is so relaxed around him now, his hair tied up in a bun, a simple black shirt rolled to the elbows and grey trousers to drive him mad at how well they fit his body. They have reached an intimacy that fills his gleeful heart with hope at a happiness he never thought he’d achieve. McCree’s heart can’t help to sink at this; how lucky he is to have Hanzo and that they are both together to share this despite the circumstances of their lives.

“I saw an ice-cream parlor near our hotel,” Hanzo says and interrupts his thoughts.

“I reckon ya’ say it _gelateria_ ,” McCree says and arches an eyebrow at Hanzo.

“They had tiramisù ice cream.”

“What are we waiting for?” McCree says, tossing his napkin on the table and reaching for his trustful cowboy hat.

Hanzo smirks at how well he knows McCree’s sweet tooth, and that wolfish grin on his lips he’d die for. After a few moments waiting for the bill and a handful of glances at a now starry sky fighting to cover the lasts rays of sun of the day, they leave the _Osteria_ _dei_ _dogi_ and walk through streets full of charm to the picturesque square to sate his boyfriend’s whim.

Hanzo surprises himself at the use of that word to define McCree because he finds it terribly accurate while he releases his hand to take his arm and snuggle into the warmth of his body. He loves the soft flannel and the hard muscle underneath. Hanzo chuckles at the daily nature of the gesture and McCree notices.

“Ya’ still laughing at my phony Italian accent?”

“No, something else, but your accent is terrible, please do not…”

“Buonasera, signor-ah, can I-ah get ya’ somethin’ to drink-ah?” McCree says, faking the most awful Italian accent someone could ever come up with.

Hanzo cannot fight the gales of laughter coming out his lungs at that poor attempt. There is something about how McCree is that makes him… smile, plainly happy, and when there is no one around Hanzo can be himself and not what everyone expects him to be. He winds his arms around McCree’s neck and stands on his tiptoes, still snickering, and kisses him in case he wants to keep speaking nonsense.

“I love when ya’ laugh like that,” McCree says and blushes but doesn’t take his eyes off him.

Hanzo gasps, the words he’s never said before are burning at the back of his mouth and he is angry at himself for not being able to shout them out loud how McCree deserves. Jesse opens his mouth to say something but Hanzo stops him with a quick hand covering his mouth. As though he is jumping off a cliff, he needs those precious seconds to look down, to dwell on the shrink in his stomach, the fear, the doubts, the dizziness, he needs all that because then, and only then, he will jump.

“I love you,” Hanzo says, clear and loud and then smiles, proud and satisfied with those beaming eyes drowning in his while he takes his hand away from those smirking lips. McCree gropes for his ass and lifts him effortlessly off the ground while he kisses his way up his neck to those smiling lips that have just said all he needed to hear.

“I love ya’ too, my dear,” he mumbles into his mouth and kisses him again, pushes his tongue inside Hanzo’s mouth until he steals a moan, and then another, and Hanzo is flustered and embarrassed at the public smooching but also loves every single bit.

“Stop! Jesse,” Hanzo complains and McCree puts him back on the ground while he tips his hat and winks at him. “You are irremediable.”

“All yours, darlin’,” McCree croons and takes Hanzo’s hand again to keep walking. “Thank ya’ for this, for the trip. I don’t deserve it but it was a nice surprise.”

“You do, besides,” Hanzo says while a sly smile creeps on his face. “That is not the only surprise I have for you tonight.”

“What is it?” McCree stops and narrows his eyes. “Tell me, c’mon.”

Hanzo chuckles and takes a peek at both sides of the street to check there is no one around; then he takes McCree’s hand and kisses his knuckles lovingly before placing the big, warm hand over his chest.

“I love yer puffy chest, darlin’, but..” Hanzo presses his hand over Jesse’s and makes him feel what’s underneath the black shirt where it was supposed to be only skin and flesh. “Holy shit! Ya’ didn’t…” Hanzo nods when a deep shade of red covers his cheeks and McCree groans, taking his hand and walking swiftly in the opposite direction, right to their hotel.

“The parlor is just around the corner, Jesse,” Hanzo says and chuckles at how tightly McCree is grasping his wrist.

“Forget the ice-cream, I have better plans for ya’ tonight,” he says and winks playfully at him.

“We have all night, silly cowboy, and all day tomorrow,” Hanzo says.

“Darlin’, not even a lifetime is enough to enjoy the wonders of your body,” McCree says. “An’ I’m craving something tastier.”

Hanzo laughs again at McCree’s eagerness, a hearty chuckle that fills the empty streets with the sound of a man in love. The cowboy only stops to kiss him briefly or to catch his lips in a sinful, wet kiss full of promises for later, or to sneak a hand and touch again what he can only imagine is underneath the clothes.

The elevator is a challenge, for McCree because his jeans are suddenly awfully restraining, and for Hanzo to prevent that crazy cowboy from ripping his shirt wide open before they are in the safety of their room.

“Jesse,” Hanzo mumbles when the door of their room closes behind them and McCree pins him to the nearest wall. But McCree isn’t listening, he is sucking on his neck, surely leaving a bruise and rutting desperately at Hanzo’s thigh while his hands knead Hanzo’s chest eagerly.

“Jesse, please.”

“It’s gonna be me the one begging on my knees if ya’ don’t take those clothes off, sweetheart,” McCree says with a wolfish grin on his face.

“Go lie on the bed while I show you then,” Hanzo says.

“Let me take off one thing,” McCree says with a mischievous smile and Hanzo nods.

The cowboy drags his lips over Hanzo’s swollen ones and tangles his fingers on the hair tie of his bun to free the black sea of his hair. It falls on his shoulders so perfectly McCree bites his bottom lip while he threads a handful in his hand and takes a lungful of Hanzo’s smell on it. “Pretty thing you are, sweetheart,” McCree says while he tucks Hanzo’s hair behind his ear.

“Now go before you go mad and rip my clothes off of me,” Hanzo says.

“Would ya’ let me do that?” McCree wiggles his eyebrows playfully.

“Not tonight, cowboy,” Hanzo says and Jesse pouts but slumps back on the comfortable bed obediently, taking off his shoes with his feet and leaving the Stetson abandoned on the nightstand.

“Such a good boy,” Hanzo teases and McCree rolls his eyes.

Hanzo takes off his shoes and moves to the foot of the bed, unbuttoning his shirt as slowly as he can while watching McCree’s chest move up and down impatiently. He is so glad he booked this room, spacious, king size bed, luxurious and a little pompous even for him, but he wanted nothing less than the best for his cowboy.

A faint blush appears on his cheeks when he untucks the shirt and opens it, revealing a glimpse of an indigo lace bralette. The shirt slides down his shoulders and a heartfelt gasp leaves McCree’s lungs when he sees the see-through lace over Hanzo’s white alabaster skin, two thin straps over his shoulders and another two crossing under his chest leaving a cutout pattern that leaves McCree breathless.

“Damn,” McCree says and unbuckles his belt and pries open his jeans to get some relief from the lack of space. His mouth is suddenly dry, and he wonders what has he done to deserve the gorgeous man in front of him.

Hanzo unfastens his belt and trousers, turning a new shade of red when they fall unceremoniously at his feet. His half hard on barely fits inside the lace panties, also see-through, showing a pattern of little dark blue dots arranged without any order. Hanzo swallows in front of McCree’s intense ogling and steps out of his clothes, getting closer to the bed while he tucks his hair behind his ear.

“Blue looks good on you, honey,” McCree purrs. “But what doesn’t look good on ya’?”

“Sweet talker,” Hanzo says and a lovely smile shows on his face at the praise.

McCree takes off his shirt and throws it on a bundle on the floor, his gaze fixed on Hanzo, who is climbing up the bed and crawling on top of him. His hair falls over his right shoulder, and Jesse’s heart skips a beat when he stares at the creature climbing over him. He is defenseless in front of the starving eyes of the dragon who owns him.

Hanzo nuzzles at McCree’s navel, kisses his way down and sinks his face in the hard bulge at his groin, relishing in the cowboy’s desperate gasp leaving his mouth while he takes a lungful of his scent. Spicy, butterscotch, intoxicating. He sneaks his fingers inside the jeans and underwear and swoops the clothes down with the help of the cowboy.

“Speaking of beauty,” Hanzo says, emboldened. He bites his lower lip at that hard length begging for attention and loves the blush on Jesse’s cheeks when he is wonderfully naked just for him. Unable to help himself, he steers his hands over McCree’s thighs and mouths shamelessly at his cock, dragging his lips over it, letting his tongue out to lick the hard, throbbing flesh at his reach.

“Oh, darlin’…” McCree moans, helpless, and writhes underneath when Hanzo crawls up, biting and licking, his hands open wide exploring his skin while his mouth kisses and praise every inch of the way until he is at the base of his neck. Hanzo drags his tongue upward, feeling the stubble until he takes his lips and thrusts his tongue into that willing mouth open and longing for him. He tastes and devours until McCree is struggling with a ragged breath and nails his fingers on Hanzo’s waist.

“You do whatever you want with me tonight,” Hanzo whispers and then outlines McCree’s lips with a teasing tongue while the cowboy moans loudly into the room and buries his face in the crook of Hanzo’s neck to avoid those deep black eyes bewitching him.

“Ya’ can’t say things like that, darlin’,” McCree says. “I almost embarrass myself there.”

Hanzo chuckles and rests his chin on the cowboy’s chest, lying on top of him, while McCree cups his face with both hands and looks at him with the sweetest love-struck glance possible.

“What is it going to be, cowboy?”

“Lie down for me, sweetheart,” McCree says with a wolfish grin. “Let me see ya’.”

Hanzo rolls to a side and lies flat on the bed while the cowboy straddles his legs and roams his eyes shamelessly along his body. A black shadow of disheveled locks of hair covers the pillow while his hand caresses his chest and down his stomach and Hanzo senses his cheeks burning red again. The gallantry from earlier vanishes when he sees the lust in McCree’s eyes.

“Do ya’ like it? Wearing pretty things for me?” McCree teases while his fingers stroke Hanzo’s jutting erection over the thin lace. He goes down on Hanzo, mouth warm and wet over his hard length trapped in blue lace. The cowboy laps and drags long strokes over him, the lace brushing his tongue and granting him with a surprisingly pleasant tingling. McCree tastes the salty clear beads oozing from Hanzo and sucks hard at the head, opening his mouth wide and breathing right into Hanzo’s crotch. The poor underwear is soon soaked in his saliva.

“Jesse!” Hanzo protests and covers his face with his left arm, ashamed of the attention that his hard constricted cock is receiving by the cowboy.

“Don’t do that, princess,” McCree says and crawls up again to move the arm to a side and kiss his lips. “You look so pretty like this, just like in my dreams.”

“I find agreeable pleasing you,” Hanzo says with a mischievous smile on his lips but his cheeks flushing red.

“It’s gonna be me pleasing ya’ tonight, darlin’,” McCree says and straightens up, his finger tracing circles in the air. “Turn around.”

“Oh, wait,” Hanzo hesitates. “There is…” he bites his bottom lip.

“Another surprise?” McCree says and arches an eyebrow at him. “C’mon, sweet pie, let me see.”

Hanzo chuckles and turns around while McCree hovers over his body. He leans on his forearms and glances back at him over his shoulder. The cowboy whistles and Hanzo rolls his eyes. A silky blue ribbon secures the cutout at the back of the lace underwear.

“An’ it ain’t even Christmas,” McCree says, kneading Hanzo’s ass with big, gentle hands.

“Do you like it?” Hanzo asks, arching his back and lifting his ass suggestively just for McCree. He knows he looks good, he’s inspected himself in the mirror several times before showing it to Jesse. His round ass fits the garment heavenly and he can’t wait for the cowboy to unwrap him tonight; he doesn't even have to take them off if he doesn't want to.

“Ya’ really wanna give me a heart attack tonight,” McCree says and leans forward to kiss Hanzo’s warm cheek and whisper in his ear. “I love ya’, my dear.”

“I know,” Hanzo says and earns a nip on his earlobe and a gentle spank on his ass.

McCree kisses his way down his shoulder blades, admiring the beautiful pattern the dark dots in the bralette form at Hanzo’s back while the dragon rests his head on his arms and hums. He has his most shameful wet dream right under his mercy and he can’t decide what to do with him. The cowboy wants it all, every single dream tonight, and the first thing on his list is a well-deserved dessert he craves every night: driving Hanzo mad with his tongue.

Hanzo knows what’s coming; what he was looking for with that naughty ribbon at his backside, and when McCree’s tongue roams at the dimples of his back, he pushes his ass up impatiently.

“I’ma gonna eat ya’ up, princess,” McCree mumbles against his skin. “But first I’m gonna open my present.”

He spreads Hanzo’s legs, kneeling on the bed between them while both his hands fondle greedily that beautiful ass he’s going to abuse tonight until exertion. Hanzo rests his knees on the bed and follows McCree’s leading hands so he can position him comfortably until he reclines on the bed and kisses his butt cheeks over the underwear.

McCree tangles his hands around Hanzo’s thighs and scoops closer in an intimate hug until Hanzo feels his warm breath on his ass. The cowboy sneaks his tongue inside the missing fabric piece and laps at the skin there making Hanzo shudder and whine.

Trapping the dark blue ribbon between his teeth, McCree tugs at it skillfully, undoing easily the knot and revealing Hanzo’s sweet dreamy ass right in front of him. He drags his lips over his skin, lets his tongue out to tease, and chuckles when Hanzo moans loudly at his tongue stroking shamelessly along his now exposed rim.

“Jesse, please,” Hanzo whines and pushes back, craving for that tongue that speak wonders to him every single time.

“Ya’ like when I do this, right honey?” McCree teases and licks the sensitive skin between his butt cheeks avoiding that fluttering hole. Hanzo whines again and muffles the needy sounds against the mattress while endless _please_ leave his mouth. “Ya want my tongue up your ass so bad?” McCree murmurs and then the tip of his sinful tongue darts out to tease him.

“Yes,” Hanzo moans. “ _Please_ , Jesse.” His voice is a melody hard not to obey faithfully.

The cowboy hums, pleased and starving, opening his mouth and pressing his tongue right into Hanzo’s hole. He licks and runs his tongue on him, eating out that ass he loves so much and enjoying greatly the needy noises leaving Hanzo’s mouth.

He pushes back into that sinful tongue but McCree has him secured with both hands, spreading his cheeks to access him easily while his tongue outlines the muscle and pushes inside, breaching him and delivering endless pleasure. McCree feasts on him as he does whenever Hanzo lets him, kissing and tonguing greedily, spit running down his chin and easing things so that tongue can slide right inside him, darting in and out fast and eagerly because that’s how Hanzo likes it.

“Fuck, you feel so good,” Hanzo moans into the room and McCree feels a hint of pride, stopping briefly after a loving kiss right into that puckered hole just to speak his mind.

“Hand me the lube, darlin’,” McCree says and Hanzo, flustered and impatient to yield again to his cowboy’s doing, fumbles under the pillow and hands him the bottle.

“Under the pillow, classy,” McCree jokes and Hanzo rolls his eyes at him.

“Do not stop now,” Hanzo says and purses his lips after, waiting impatiently while McCree opens the bottle with one hand and struggles to squeeze -too much- lube on his fingers.

“I like when ya’ get bossy, princess,” McCree says and bites his butt cheek harshly while he slides a slick finger inside Hanzo and he moans. “Bossy with my finger up your ass…”

“What about that tongue too?” Hanzo wryly says.

McCree pleases him dutifully, and his tongue licks and presses again Hanzo while his finger circles the inside, stretching him. Hanzo moans and arches his back, resting his face on the soft sheets and muffling there the words coming out his mouth: _Jesse, please, more_.

His cock is constricted by the lace underwear McCree has refused to take off. Hanzo is hard and aroused, and when Jesse’s warm hand nestles his erection and palms at it he lets out a needy grunt. His tongue is twirling wonderfully while that finger sinks deeper inside him and brushes his prostate every other thrust. McCree backs off to gasp for air and adds a second finger inside him. Hanzo writhes underneath at the intrusion.

“Come for me in that pretty underwear, princess,” McCree says before attacking again Hanzo’s ass. His fingers spreading so he can fit his tongue between them, feeling the warmth inside Hanzo and his clenching hole around him.

“Do not stop,” Hanzo wails, rocking his hips desperately against that strong hand firmly rubbing his length over the lace. “Please, please…” And that heavenly tongue and naughty fingers stretching him but not filling him nearly how he needs.

McCree groans, his neglected cock throbbing against the sheets while he fucks Hanzo with his fingers and his skillful tongue, the lube is running down his chin, but he doesn’t care, all he wants is Hanzo to come inside that pretty underwear by his fingers and his tongue. So he sinks them deep and finds it, that spot, again, brushes against it, his fingers in and out of him but aiming there. His other hand stroking that hard cock faster and his tongue wet and drilling as far as he can go inside that glory hole.

“Jesse!”

He feels the warm come and the twitch of Hanzo’s cock when he comes calling his name into the room, his hole fluttering around his fingers and pushing his tongue out lewdly. McCree smiles and kisses his butt cheeks, his fingers still there, fucking him, milking him dry while Hanzo moans and cries out for him.

“That’s it, my dear, yer so pretty,” McCree whispers. “So pretty for me…”

He withdraws his fingers and licks his lips just thinking all he wants now is to shove himself there and come in the first thrust inside that stretched hole, but Hanzo turns around, breathless and still panting. He lies on his back and sprawls his legs for Jesse.

McCree sees it right in front of him, the pearlescent cum of Hanzo soaking the blue delicate lace, his softened cock trapped wonderfully in the see-through lace and he loses his mind, wants to rip that open and fuck him senseless.

“Jesse,” Hanzo says, flushed, red, beautiful cheeks and hooded lids begging him. “Come over me,” he croons.

“Damn, Hanzo,” McCree curses and takes himself in his hand, groaning loudly at the long-awaited touch from his fingers slick with lube. “Yes, ‘cause yer mine, so pretty and so mine.”

McCree kneels between Hanzo’s legs and places his left hand on the bed near Hanzo’s waist. He jerks himself off forcefully, fast, needily, his eyes fixed on the blue beautiful lace already ruined, on that softened cock trapped inside.

Hanzo lifts his hand and tangles his fingers in his hair, tugging gently at it, stroking his scalp and guiding his cowboy through his orgasm. A few firm strokes and McCree spills himself over Hanzo, white spurts of his spent fall over the lace and Hanzo’s stomach while he groans and exhales, satisfied and trembling because he doesn’t stop, he pumps himself until his cock is soft and he has nothing left for Hanzo.

“Goddamnit, I’m gonna lose my mind for ya’,” McCree murmurs.

“Have you not already, cowboy?” Hanzo teases and bites his bottom lip when McCree lifts his head and glances at him with that dopey smile he loves so much. After sex does really suit him dreadfully well.

“Indeed I have, darlin',” McCree says and winks at him, crawling up to steal a peck from those velvety lips. “Give me a sec and I’ll get us both clean.”

McCree stands with a grunt and goes to the bathroom while Hanzo stares at the ceiling and a smug smile paints his lips at the earthly pleasures he indulges himself with the cowboy. Sex has never been like this, not this exciting nor this… romantic. He glances at the illuminated bathroom and sees McCree standing stark naked in front of the bathroom sink, wetting a towel and washing his face.

“I reckon there’s more lube on my beard than on yer pretty ass,” McCree yells and Hanzo snorts. Yes, sex has never been this romantic, he thinks ironically, nor this unalloyed.

He comes back with a wink and a smile that curls Hanzo’s stomach nice and warm and, pouting and with a small protest, McCree takes off the ruined panties and cleans him while Hanzo watches. He lets him take care of him, the cowboy takes pleasure in it and it makes him feel good when he does the same for him.

“Pretty as a peach,” McCree says and tosses the towel on the floor, lying on top of Hanzo and kissing his way up to that puffy chest still covered by the bralette. McCree lets out a dreamy sigh.

“What is it?” Hanzo asks and arches an eyebrow at him.

“Just tell me this,” McCree says while he cups Hanzo’s chest with both hands. “Ain’t a one-time thing.” Hanzo laughs and pets the cowboy’s hair lovingly.

“I bought several more lingerie sets,” Hanzo says, suppressing a smug smile. “It would be a shame not to make the most of them since you have clearly enjoyed it so much.” McCree’s wolfish grin, while he pushes his head into Hanzo’s hand, melts his heart.

“Oh thank god,” McCree praises. “I love ya’,” he says while he buries his face in his chest and nuzzles there mumbling his thanks to him.

“Do you want to go for that ice-cream now?” Hanzo asks playfully.

“We ain’t done yet, princess,” McCree says while he kisses his skin through the lace. “I’m gonna ruin ya’ pretty good tonight.”

“What are you suggesting?” Hanzo asks with a smirk.

“I ain’t stoppin’ ‘til the morning light seeps through those windows,” McCree says and licks a perked nipple through the fabric. “I’m gonna make love to ya’ until ya’ beg me to stop.”

“I would _never_ do that,” Hanzo says with a sly smile. “I’d beg you to keep fucking me.” Hanzo purrs and McCree moans loudly, exhaling his warm breath right into his left nipple.

“I better get to it,” McCree says and grasps the abandoned bottle of lube in a corner of the bed while he kisses one last time both Hanzo’s nipples through the lace and trails a lewd path down his toned stomach. He drags his lips over his heated skin, the muscles flexing underneath his teasing fingers, soft kisses follow harsh love bites and soon McCree is right in front of that softened but still beautiful cock he loves so much.

“I am not even hard, Jesse,” Hanzo shyly says and blushes, covering his eyes with an arm while McCree chuckles and spare kisses on him.

“That’s why I’m here, sweetheart,” McCree says.

McCree soaks his fingers in the lube and leaves the bottle nearby before landing kisses on the soft skin, nuzzling there while he inhales Hanzo’s scent eliciting a hearty gasp from his own mouth. His fingers tease Hanzo and smear lube on the already stretched muscle and the Shimada moans.

“If it gets too much, ya’ tell me to stop,” McCree says and glances up at Hanzo who nods and rests a leg over McCree’s shoulder. The cowboy kisses his inner thigh keeping his eyes on him and watching those beautiful black eyes disappear behind feathery lashes when he pushes his fingers inside him, palm facing the ceiling.

He buries them in to the second knuckle effortlessly and finds his way, paying attention to Hanzo’s reactions until a certain spot sends a jolt of pleasure that makes him tremble. McCree releases the pressure but Hanzo glares at him.

“Do not stop,” he demands.

McCree smiles and moves his fingers at a leisurely pace, brushing gently his fingertips inside Hanzo’s warmth. Then he licks his lips lasciviously and, with the help of his other hand he takes that beautiful cock presented in front of him and puts it in his mouth. Hanzo whines loudly but pets his hair with a shaky hand.

He tastes of sex, of him, sweet and dreamy. McCree sucks gently the softened cock, stealing unintended moans from Hanzo. He loves to please him, to lure him to the highest cliff of pleasure and then attack him again because what he loves the most are those noises, those pleasant words coming out his mouth just for him; how Hanzo demands him not to stop, how he begs for more, for him, for his warm mouth around him, for those fingers massaging gently inside him, stretching him wide open for him. He wants Hanzo a sore mess wanting nothing more than his hard cock inside him.

McCree is hard again, and now he has secured that half-hard cock inside his mouth and is sucking at it mercilessly, he sneaks his free hand down himself to wrap it around his girth. He moans and Hanzo tugs at his hair forcefully so he opens his eyes to look at him.

“Do not make me come yet, I want you inside me,” Hanzo says, but it’s a beg, a beautiful one he answers with his loving, needy eyes.

 _Whatever ya’ want, princess, whatever you need ‘cause I’m here_ _to_ _please ya’_ , McCree wants to say but sucks, with Hanzo’s hard cock in his mouth and withdraws his fingers -even though Hanzo protests at that- to lean over him and take him all in, until the tip hits the back of his throat and he gags.

Out of breath, he moves his hand desperately fast but holding himself for something better, feeling Hanzo writhing and squirming underneath him while he has his full hard-on in his mouth. He takes him out to gasp for air and a glistening trail of spit connects his bottom lip with Hanzo’s length.

“I want you, Jesse,” Hanzo says and stands on his forearms. “I need you.”

“Gottcha, honey,” he says. “C’mere, get on my lap.” McCree smiles at Hanzo’s flushed face when he sits cross-legged on the bed, his hard cock on full display and leaving a cozy place over his thighs so he can fit right there.

Hanzo crawls on the mattress for the lube and slicks the cowboy’s cock while his tongue assails his mouth greedily, tasting himself on Jesse while he hums how much he loves him. A few long strokes of his hand and the cowboy is already bucking his hips up with impatience.

“Darlin’, please,” McCree mumbles and brings a smug smile to Hanzo’s face.

Hanzo straddles Jesse and those naughty hands hurry to grasp his ass and spread his butt cheeks while he gropes for his cock again with a hand at his back. He positions the tip at his stretched hole and pushes down. After a few seconds, the lingering burn recedes and Hanzo gasps, holding himself in McCree’s shoulders and relishing in those whiskey-colored eyes encouraging him.

“Take your time,” McCree whispers.

But Hanzo slowly sinks that thick length inside him until he is sitting on McCree’s lap with a ragged breath and that intense feeling of fullness he craves so much. The cowboy moans and supports him while Hanzo wraps his legs around his waist at McCree’s back.

Their blushed faces meet, his bodies joined while Hanzo winds his arms around his neck, closing the distance even more. Now he wants it, the intimacy, the close contact with that man that looks at him as though he is the most precious creature on earth.

“I love you, Jesse,” Hanzo whispers into his mouth.

“Allers,” McCree says and traps his lips into a languid kiss.

Hanzo rocks his hips on the cowboy’s lap and moans at that glorious cock pulling in and out of him in short, slow movements. McCree joins him, bucks up in unison with him until they find their rhythm.

One of those moments again, when times blurs, when nothing matters, not the darkness embracing them if not for that faint light in the room, not the lack of air when they cannot stop feasting on each other’s mouth, not the restricted movement they have in this position; because they have themselves because they’re together and that’s what matters.

McCree cups his face with one hand while the other wraps around Hanzo’s cock to squeeze his orgasm out of him. Hanzo rocks his hips faster, needily, a pleasure he wants to last forever.

“Yer so perfect, sweetheart,” McCree murmurs and his tongue is out again to lick those swollen moaning lips at his reach.

“I’m close,” Hanzo says, breathless.

“So am I,” McCree traps his bottom lip and sucks at it while his hand exploits that information and strokes him faster.

Hanzo whines, blissed out, and hides his face in the crook of McCree’s neck, hurrying the sloppy movements of his hips while that hard cock is brushing exactly where he wants, where he needs. He bites, harshly, muffling the desperate wail of pleasure that leaves his lungs when he comes around McCree. And the cowboy twists and squeezes his length while his other hand is at his nape, secure, safe, tangled in the silky, onyx hair he loves so much.

McCree’s sweet nothings fill his ears when he falls slack on top of him, but he is there to support him, the last wave of pleasure leaving his body as the white spurts of come drip between them, and much-needed air filling his lungs when Hanzo realizes Jesse isn’t done yet.

“Fuck me, Jesse,” Hanzo whispers in his ear and disentangles his legs so he can push McCree flat on the mattress. “ _Please_ …” he mischievously croons, straddling him and ready to ride, but he glimpses a wolfish grin before the cowboy manhandles him and rolls them over so he is on top of him, still inside him, but now deeper, so much deeper Hanzo yelps.

“Like this, honey?” McCree says, breathless, while he drives himself roughly inside Hanzo in one slide. “Or ya’ wanted to ride me?”

“Yes, please,” Hanzo says, wrapping his legs and arms around the cowboy’s body. “Please, Jesse, please…”

McCree wants to answer, wants to tease and be cocky, to put Hanzo back again on top of him, but he can’t. He grunts and buries his face in Hanzo’s hair, thrusting into him faster and deeper, shoving himself to the brim in that heavenly tight hole. His cock twitches, wrapped by Hanzo’s heat, and his name leaves his lungs as he spills himself inside him, still rocking his hips, the slapping noise of skin against skin filling the room because he doesn’t stop, doesn’t want to, not until he slumps over Hanzo with one last gasp leaving his mouth, empty but right where he wants to be.

“Thank you, Jesse,” Hanzo whispers into his ear. “You feel so good, you always feel so right,” Hanzo says and smiles, feeling the softened cock sliding out of him and the warm come oozing while that exhausted cowboy breathes heavily on his neck. He loves it. He loves _him_.

McCree lifts his head and then frowns when he sees it. He moves the strap of the bra and sighs. The bullet wound is there, still pink, healed but there, on Hanzo’s perfect skin. He kisses it, drags his lips over it, wanting to erase it, to erase the pain it caused, the fear when he thought he had lost the love of his life too soon. Way too soon.

“I wear that with pride,” Hanzo whispers and pets his hair lovingly.

“Honey, I don’t…”

“You do. I would die for you any day, stupid cowboy,” Hanzo says and kisses his head before speaking again. “Though I’d rather live and do this.” McCree chuckles and nibbles at his neck.

“I’m yours for life, sweetheart,” McCree says with a dopey smile plastered on his mouth.

“Of course you are, I own you, remember?” Hanzo teases.

“But I own yer pretty ass,” McCree mumbles into his mouth and steals another wet kiss before an idea pops into his mind. “Hey, let’s take a bath in that big tub, relax for a bit, then go at it again.”

“Eager,” Hanzo says while Jesse stands and offers a hand to Hanzo who chuckles and stays lying on the bed, exhausted already. McCree pulls his legs to the edge of the bed and lifts him over his shoulder so effortlessly Hanzo protests, surprised, and tries to squirm out of his hold.

“Jesse!” Hanzo says when the cowboy spanks his exposed ass and walks decisively to the bathroom carrying him, his hair falling on his face while he tries to get a hold on Jesse’s body, though he knows he wouldn’t let him fall. “We have to fill the bath first,” he points out.

“Ya’ said I can do whatever I want with ya’ tonight an’, honey, I’m gonna do exactly that,” McCree says and laughs openly, ignoring Hanzo’s protests.

“Put me down!” Hanzo complains but chuckles when Jesse blatantly ignores him and spanks his ass again.

“I’ll put ya’ down on the tub,” McCree croons happily.

It’ll be a memorable night, a night they will repeat every year from now on. When they come back to their little heaven in Venice to celebrate not an anniversary, or a new year, or a trip to spice things up; they come back to celebrate they’re still together, that they still love each other and always will.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is it! I knooow, I'm so cheesy but McHanzo deserves eternal love and happy endings <3 Thank you so much to all of you reading along and leaving the most cute, sweet and encouraging comments possible, knowing you've enjoyed this little fic makes me truly happy ヾ（*⌒ヮ⌒*）ゞ
> 
> Thank you again!! see ya' around <33333

**Author's Note:**

> Please, let me know if you liked it!!! (Suggestions, corrections, all welcomed)  
> ╭( ･ㅂ･)و ̑̑ ˂ᵒ͜͡ᵏᵎ⁾✩


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